The Ambassador's Daughter
by tellyoscar
Summary: Fifteen years ago, the daughter of a high ranking diplomat vanished, leaving behind nothing but a little blue book. Love is dangerous and difficult and free. [AU. No walkers. Richonne]
1. Chapter One: Winfield House

**A/N: Here is a little something I started writing. I wanted to do a different kind of Richonne. This is an AU fix and I hope you enjoy it!**

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 **Chapter One: Winfield House**

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Michonne cradled her daughter against her chest as she looked out of the large windows of the manor that reminded her of her late teenage years. The window was slightly ajar so she could listen to the sounds of the nature that surrounded them.

"Is she sleeping?" Michonne turned around to find a bright eyed eleven-year-old boy standing behind her chair.

"Yeah," she said, looking down at the little curly-haired two-year-old in her arms. "It was a long trip. Where's your brother?"

"Downstairs with my Dad." His face twisted in concentration. "Will we get to meet the queen?"

Michonne laughed at the boy's enthusiasm. "Probably not, but you never know. Life is always full of surprises. Your Dad and I met a lot of cool people and did lots of cool things when we were here in London as teenagers."

"My _Dad_ has been here before?"

"Yes," she answered, giggling at his surprise. "It was when we met the first time. We were teenagers then."

"Really?" he grinned. "How'd you guys meet each other again?"

She took a deep breath thinking back on the place that changed her life. It was both the best and worst time of her life. Those extraordinary three months, fifteen years prior that changed her life forever. "We first met here in London when I was seventeen." Michonne thought back to the unruly nineteen-year-old bad-boy troublemaker that was Rick Grimes.

"He was the most interesting person I ever met and I met a _lot_ of interesting people. You see, my father was an important man with an important job."

 **Fifteen Years Earlier**

Michonne stared out at the passing scenery of the rolling English landscape. The bright glare of the sun shone against her face. She smiled as she tried to enjoy it, knowing it wouldn't come often.

"Michie look," her seven-year old brother giggled pointing at the large stone buildings and occasional greenery as they drove.

Michonne was beginning to nod off when their black town car pulled through massive iron gates and came to a stop in front of an enormous three-storied red-stoned Neo-Georgian house. It reminded her of the large building's she often saw on college campuses. It was a house fit for a king. It was slightly intimidating, with its immaculate gardens, tall hedges and perfect landscaping.

The driver stepped out, opening her door. "Good day your excellency!" A man in a dark suit greeted her father. His eyes briefly raked over the unconventional family, but his expression gave nothing away. "I would like to welcome you and your family to the Winfield house Ambassador Westbrook."

"It's huge," Amare said in a loud whisper. "I think It's a little bigger than our old house Michie."

She smiled down at the young boy as her mother came over, standing behind the children as the dark suited man, who introduced himself as Richard spoke animatedly. He asked them about their trip and their drive through London. "This house has the second largest garden in London. Buckingham's palace has the first largest. It's really quite impressive."

"It is a great pleasure for my family and I to live in and take care this wonderful historical house. We are very excited to have a tour."

"Well let's go in shall we?"

They followed the man into the house, marveling as he displayed the various rooms of the mansion and explained their enchanting history. They were filled with antique paintings, Persian carpets, immaculate tapestries and Louis XV furniture. Michonne was most impressed by the Green Room which was draped in beautiful Chinese wallpaper.

It may have been her fatigue, but she felt the tour was extensive and she was thankful when she was able to retreat to her designated bedroom while her father attended his other engagements for the day.

He spoke of meeting with an administrative officer at the embassy to be introduced to the mission community in London.

"Chou-chou?" Michonne turned away from the large window in her bedroom to find her mother, Winnie Westbrook standing in the doorway of her large bedroom, a small smile on her face. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Michonne answered. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Winnie shrugged. "You've been really quiet all day."

"Jet lag."

"Moving is hard, I know."

"It's fine. I'm fine," Michonne assured her. "James has a very important job."

Winnie raised her brow. "James?"

Michonne shook her head. "Dad. Slip of tongue."

Winnie strode toward her daughter, gently stroking at her coily afro. She glanced at the large mirror across the room. "We should have straightened this for today. First impressions are lasting ones."

"Mom," Michonne groaned.

"What?" she giggled. "A little taming never hurt nobody." She wrapped her arm around her daughter's shoulder. "You sure you're okay chou-chou?"

"I'm sure." She gave her mother a tight smile in an attempt to appease her. "I'm happy to be here. London's pretty cool."

"Glad to hear it." Winnie's face stretched into a wide grin. "It definitely is. I can't wait until we start hosting people here. That's always fun."

A boyish giggle came from the doorway. "Mommy! Michie!" Amare was standing at Michone's door with a sheet wrapped around him like a toga. On his feet, he wore red high heeled shoes, several sizes too big and his mouth was covered in a matching red color.

"Oh Amare, not those," Winnie called, chasing after the little boy who dashed out of the room and down the hall. "Comeback here!" Michonne couldn't help but laugh. Her brother, in his own way, was the most hilarious member of their family.

Michonne sat down in front of her vanity picking up a wide toothed comb and a hairbrush as she went to work on taming her hair to her mother's liking. She hummed to herself as she thought of all her friends she left behind. She didn't really get to have lasting friendships, but most of her friends were children of ambassadors and diplomats so they understood. Her mother married James when she was eight and that was when her life of frequent relocation started.

Her mother became the wife of a diplomat and she was the daughter. She was constantly reminded of how important her father's job was. In addition to that, to some they were viewed as unconventional and received odd and curious looks, due to her mother being black and James is as white as they come.

This was the fourth country they lived in other than the United States. Her brother, Amare was born while they were posted in South Africa.

"So you guys start school soon," James said conversationally as he took a bite of his food. They were seated in their dining room for their first solo dinner in London as a family. Soon her parent's social life would become intensely more active. They often hosted weekly diplomatic receptions and were almost always dining out or with guests.

James' blue eyes moved around the table to each of his family members. "Excited? You'll make lots of new friends."

Michonne hummed in response, quietly picking at her food.

"New friends!" Amare giggled as he attempted to place his bread rolls over his eyes.

"Please don't do that Amare," her mother said, taking the rolls from him and gently stroking his loose curls. "Food is for your plate and your mouth. Not your face, okay?"

"I know Mommy," he chirped, reaching for his fork.

"We have an imaginative boy," James chuckled as he shot the boy a wink. "Never change son."

Winnie sighed, rolling her eyes playfully at her husband. "Sometimes change is a good thing. That's how it's been in my experience. Everything in my life eventually changed for the better. We don't want our son running wild without proper manners and training. We'll have to go over the styles of eating again. Eat your food Amare." Winne's eyes fell on her daughter. "Speaking of change, I'm loving what you did with your hair sweetie. It's very chic. I like that blouse too!"

Michonne's face broke into a smile at her mother's compliment. She touched her hair lightly. "Thanks. I was just trying something new."

"It's really nice. You should wear it like that for the welcoming party when we meet the members of the mission. Maybe add some cute twists over here? Isn't it nice darling?"

James shrugged his shoulders. "Very nice. It always is Winnie."

Michonne gave him a small grateful smile, but didn't otherwise respond.

"I know…and she understands," Winnie said looking away. Amare started prattling on about his new room and playing soccer once he found new friends. His parents listened intently at animated descriptions and his overall enthusiasm for everything in life.

James cleared his throat and three pairs of eyes looked up at him. "I'd just like to say that I'm extremely thankful for you all," he said. "I have such a wonderful and understanding family. We have a great responsibility here and I am glad we can share that together. Thank you."

"Thanksgiving!" Amare whooped as Winnie attempted to shush him. "Oh," she clucked. "You don't have to thank your family. That's the whole point. To share these incredibly momentous experiences with each other. We are so fortunate to be able to play such an important role in the world. The kids have already experienced so many different cultures and not everyone can have that."

Michonne fought the urge to roll her eyes. All of what her mother said was true, but she sometimes found the woman to be a little too over the top with a slightly pompous air about her. There was something off about her and it seemed to get worse as the years went by.

 _Was is normal to distrust your own mother?_

"Plus I just have a good feeling about this place. Being here, you know?" Winnie's warm, dark eyes danced with happiness. She didn't know that in a few short months her world would turn upside down and she would be thinking and saying the complete opposite.

 **Present Day**

"I'm gonna put her down." Michonne stood up with the little girl and the young boy took a step back.

"Can I do it?"

"Okay," she said, adjusting the child in her arms. "Careful, okay? Here you go."

He held out his hands for his sister, carefully cradling her in his arms as Michonne made her way to the large canopy bed, clearing a spot for the little girl. He carefully placed his sister down, smiling indulgently at her. "She's so cute."

"You were too," she said, ruffling the boy's hair as his face lit up. "You've seen the pictures. She looks a little like you."

"Really?" he grinned. "You think so?"

She flicked his nose casing him to giggle and pull away. "Yeah. I can see can't I?"

"I'm going to go watch some TV now," he called, as he jogged away from her to leave the room. "The TV shows here are so weird."

Michonne smiled, shaking her head at the boy's antics as she returned to her seat by the window. He reminded her so much of her brother Amare. She felt a pang of guilt as she thought of him. So much time had passed since that unforgettable year.

She paused, staring across the room at the dreadlocked woman in the large mirror. It was as if her face hadn't changed at all over the years. There was a definite difference in her though. She sometimes wondered what would have happened if fate had not intervened that day in London.

As she moved back toward her window seat, she bumped into a nearby table, knocking over a small pile of books. As she picked them up, a slip paper fell out of one and she bent down, picking up what appeared to be an old newspaper clipping. She picked it up, gasping as she saw the headline and familiar famous picture of a smiling teenager with a large afro standing between her parents outside Winfield House.

 **Ambassador's Daughter Still Missing**

 _The boyfriend of seventeen-year-old daughter of US ambassador questioned as investigation into a possible kidnapping is underway_

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 **What do you think? Are you interested in reading more? This is a Richonne fic. I'm really excited about this one. It's going to be a different kind of Rick and Michonne.**


	2. Chapter Two: Waterloo

AN: If you Look up Winfield House it looks a little like the Hilltop. I found that funny.

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 **Chapter Two: Waterloo**

 _Life is not a fairytale._

Michonne picked up the blue journal, flipping it open to a random page as she sat down. A cool breeze wafted in flipping the pages in her hand. The sky had begun to darken and she could smell the tell-tale signs of incoming rain. She lightly pressed her palm against one side as she tried to read the familiar handwriting.

 _I met someone last night._

The most difficult thing about love is its randomness. People find themselves on the path of love in the most sudden and unexpected ways with a person they never even saw coming.

She pressed a finger against the words as if they could bring her back to the moment they were written or when her life shifted paths.

 **Fifteen Years Earlier**

The first time she met him, he saved her life.

On the night they met, she had been attending and residing at the girls only Marymount International School for about a month. Most of her weeks were spent at school and she would spend some weekends at home with her parents and brother Amare.

Her parents were attending a state dinner over the weekend and she knew her mother would be in no state to pay them any mind. She often became unnecessarily wound up.

"You're going home tonight, right?" Andrea asked as she entered their shared bedroom. Andrea Harrison was the daughter of an American businessman who had temporarily relocated to London with his family. She and Michonne met during Michonne's orientation and were absolutely thrilled that they were not only both placed in the same house, St. Jean, but they were roommates as well.

"Not tonight," she answered, looking up from her journal. "My parents are attending some kind of important dinner party, so there's no point in staying at Winfield."

"Oh fancy party?"

"Of course," Michonne sighed as she lay back against her bed. "My Mom wanted me to be there, but I passed."

"Thank goodness for that," Andrea sighed, plopping down on Michonne's bed. Andrea had a strenuous relationship with her father, who was now with his fourth wife and she rarely went home. "I thought I was going to be stuck next to Jessie Anderson at movie night again. Talk about irritating."

"Always here to save the day."

Andrea grinned mischievously at Michonne as she rested her chin in her hands. "Hey, you wanna get out of here tonight?"

Michonne shot her a disapproving look, knowing what was coming. "Andrea."

"We won't get in trouble," she promised. "I have my ways and I have _permission_. Plus, I'm house captain now. I have too much to lose if I get in trouble. We don't even have class tomorrow." She stood up, removing her uniform jacke and tossing it on her own bed. While Andrea was an excellent student, she was also a wild child. They were not supposed to leave the campus without permission, but somehow Andrea always knew how to go unnoticed as she came and went. Although, they had a very close call the last time they left campus. "You had a lot of fun the last time we hit the town. Stop scribbling in that book and get changed babe. It's the weekend and we're going out so put on something sexy."

Two hours later, Michonne found herself stepping of a train at Waterloo station, arm in arm with a scantily dressed Andrea. "Tonight's the night baby!" Andrea exclaimed as they walked through the station. "Are you drinking with me tonight?"

Michonne rolled her eyes, wondering why they were at Waterloo of all places. "Where exactly are we going this time?"

"You'll see," Andrea sang. "This isn't our final stop. We're meeting a friend first."

"Andrea."

"Don't be like that Michie," Andrea whined. "You've gotta try everything at _least_ once."

"Hey Drea! Baby!"

The girls turned around to find a dark haired guy jogging towards them, arms outstretched. "My baby!" Andrea screeched as she bounded towards him, jumping into his arms, her lips crashing against his as they sloppily sucked at each other's face.

Michonne strolled towards them, her face filled with amusement as she waited for them to finish with their display. They received a few annoyed glances from passerby's. "Shit, how rude of me," Andrea giggled, breathing heavily as she broke away and turned to face her friend. "Michonne this is my boyfriend, Shane. Shane this is Michonne, my roommate."

"Nice to meet you Michonne, he said shaking her hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Same here," she lied. She had heard almost nothing about him and was left wondering how and when they even met.

"Shane is an Embassy kid like you." Shane hooked an arm around Andrea's waist as she ran a hand through the back of his hair. "Her Dad is the U.S. Ambassador or something."

"Nice to meet you," Shane said, reaching out to shake her hand. "Westbrook right?"

"That's right."

Andrea tugged on Shane's hair as her lips curled into a sultry smile. "So, where's the party baby? I didn't get all dressed up for nothing."

"It's a short train ride away," he said throwing an arm around her shoulder. "Not far. We'll meet up with some of my friends. It's a party and they have the good drugs."

Michonne's eye widened as she locked eyes with Andrea, who shot her a pleading look as Shane began leading them away. She shook her head as she followed her overzealous friend. The boarded another train headed in the direction of Shane's Friday night party.

Once they arrived, they maneuvered their way through the loud overcrowded venue, bypassing the various partying occupants until they met two of Shane's friends standing near a patio door.

"This is Andrea and that's her friend Michonne," Shane yelled over the loud music. Michonne and Andrea shook hands with the two young men who in turn introduced themselves as Phillip and Mike.

"Welcome," Phillip said, his arms outstretched. "Have some drinks and have some fun. We only have the best shit here."

Andrea grabbed two beers handing one to Michonne with a wink as she made a slight gesture toward Mike before taking Shane's hand leading him away.

Phillip disappeared into the crowd leaving just Mike and Michonne behind. "So Michonne, where're you from?" he asked as he took a sip of his own beer. She introduced herself to him properly and learned that he was a year older than her and was the son of a Nigerian oil tycoon. The party was the epitome of a gathering of wild wealthy young people. Although, Mike turned out to be a very funny and charming guy, when she could make out what he was yelling over the loud music.

"So you're at Marymount with Andrea?" he asked as he bopped to the music, while making playfully flirtatious faces at her.

She giggled at his silliness as she reached for another drink, moving her body to the music as the alcohol released her inhibitions. She always enjoyed dancing even though she wasn't a particularly good dancer. Mike moved closer to her, gently grabbing her hand as he started to bop more animatedly. "I love this song."

She enjoyed his endearing personality and he had a wonderful smile. "First time hearing it," she yelled back. She spotted Andrea across the room grinding against Shane, who was talking to what looked like one of his guy friends.

He began swaying his hips as he danced and in an exaggerated manner earning some more laughs from Michonne. "Hey," he said, leaning closer so she could hear him. "You wanna try some X?"

"What?" she yelled, not understanding him.

"X," he repeated. "Ecstasy. Shane's man just brought some more goodies. I've never tried it, but always a first time right?" He took her hand, leading her over to where Shane and Andrea were engaged in a sloppy kiss. Mike let go of her hand and moved towards a table filled with said "goodies".

"I feel great," Andrea said, inhaling deeply as Shane pulled away from her to chat with someone else. "You looked like you were having fun with Mike. You're gonna dance some more?" Andrea gyrated her hips.

"I actually need some air," she shouted over the loud music, as she inched away from her friend.

"Get some air girl," Andrea slurred, eyes glazed, as she took hold of Shane's hand as he passed. "I'll just be here, okay?"

Michonne stepped out into the cool London evening, happy to be out of the packed stuffy house. Rain had fallen while she was inside. She held on to the railing as she descended the front steps of the house, feeling a little dizzy after the four drinks she had. Her eyes landed on a small shop across the street and she suddenly craved something sweet. She hopped off the last step preparing to cross the road.

It was as if the whole world slowed down. A blaring honking sound filled the air and a bright light and before she could fully process what was happening, Michonne felt an arm around her waist yanking her backwards and away from the road.

"Are you out of your fuckin' mind?" an alarmed voice roared, as Michonne fell backward unto a solid form as her bottom hit the hard ground of the sidewalk.

"I…I…," she sucked in a shaky breath, looking up at the dark haired man who had just pulled her away from an oncoming vehicle. The car paused, and she looked up to see an older man peering down at them. "Are you okay?"

"All good," the voice behind her called, as she was pulled to her feet.

The world stopped when their eyes first met. It may have been the alcohol, but when she turned around to look her savior in the eye, that was it. She knew because she never felt anything like it. Her heart picked up speed and the world danced around her.

"Wow. I don't even know what just happened. I wasn't…" she placed a hand on her forehead. She could feel a headache coming on. "I'm drunk," she blurted.

The man stared at her, slightly amused as he held her in place. He was a young man, who couldn't have been that much older than she was. "It looked like you had a damn death wish. You scared me for a second there. I thought you were trying to hurt yourself."

She gripped his arm for support. "I'm just a little drunk. I don't even get drunk. The party just blows."

His blue eyes were filled with amusement, as he looked at the tipsy young woman that clung to his arm. "That's no reason to try to get yourself killed tipsy."

"I just wanted some candy." After she said it she realized how silly she must have sounded.

"You're not gonna find that in the middle of the road," he teased, as she let go of him

Michonne rolled her eyes at the apparent jokester. "I wasn't trying to – I should go back inside and find my friend," she said, backing away from him, her heart still hammering in her chest.

He reached out, grabbing her hand before she could turn around. Her skin tingled where his hand touched hers her stomach fluttered and she wasn't sure that it was because of the alcohol. His voice was much softer when he spoke this time. "Hey there tipsy. I didn't catch your name."

"It's Michonne."

"That's a real pretty name," he said, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear. Michonne wrinkled her nose. His eyes raked over her face, focusing on her lips. "You don't sound like you're from 'round here."

"I am for now." Michonne said observing him carefully. He was cute and he looked familiar. "You didn't tell me yours. Hey wait a minute I've seen you before. Were you at the party? Are you a friend of Shane's? Phillips's?"

"What party?" He took a step away from her, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked genuinely confused with his lips wrapped around the unlit cigarette.

"The one you just left. I could have sworn I saw you." He stared blankly at her for what seemed like forever. She was beginning to worry about _his_ mental state. Maybe he was inebriated too.

"You're funny Tipsy," he chuckled, still calling her by her new nickname. He reached for her hand. "Come on."

"I don't even know you," she said, taking a step away from him. She may have been drunk, and he may have had an effect on her, but she wasn't reckless. "I shouldn't follow strangers while drunk."

"Well, you shouldn't look for candy in the street while drunk either. I'm Rick," he said holding out a hand for her to shake. She observed him cautiously.

"Nice to meet you Rick," she said as she took his hand.

"Now I'm not a stranger anymore," he said, with a wink. "Why are you out here by yourself? You didn't like the party."

"Did _you_?"

He shrugged, moving toward the steps. "Sit with me instead, then. I can't leave you out here drunk and unattended. You might go searching for more candy. Let's just sit for a while and get that fresh air."

"You're a southern American guy," she slurred embarrassingly as she sat down next to him on the cold steps. "You have that _twang_. It's a sexy twang Mr. Thang."

"Good to know," he laughed. "Why you out here by yourself?"

"I needed fresh air and my roommate is occupied with some ecstasy and some "good stuff" at the moment, so I had to come and get it myself." She pouted. "I also really wanted some candy."

"I think you really _are_ out of your mind Tipsy. You're lucky you're pretty."

She tossed her head back smiling up at the night sky. "It's the alcohol."

"Sure," he snorted.

"You live around here Mr. Thang? What brings you to this party?"

"Don't get too bold Tipsy," he said, grabbing her hand as he began playing with her fingers. He stared intently at her with his piercing eyes. Her skin started tingling again. She tried unsuccessfully to inconspicuously lean into to him. He smelled nice.

"Hey Rick?" She glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for not letting me get run over."

Their next meeting would be by pure chance.

 **Present Day**

The sound of a car broke Michonne out of her daydream. She glanced out of the window to see a black town car driving away from the house. She must have missed its arrival. She shut the book, with a heavy sigh as she glanced at the large antique clock on the wall across from her. She rose from her seat to check on her daughter and retrieve the baby monitor before quietly leaving the large bedroom.

She was deep in thought as she crossed the landing and she nearly bumped into her stepfather and the in-house nurse as they conversed in quiet voices.

"Michonne," James said, as a tired smile formed on his face.

James and Winnie Westbrook had relocated to London some years prior and bought the large house they now occupied. It was everything Winnie ever wanted in a home and she was satisfied to remain stationary in her dream home. She belonged there. She thought of it as an early retirement, although James was practicing international law.

"Is she up?"

James rubbed his tired face and the nurse quietly excused herself. "Yeah. She just got back from the hospital and she's had her lunch and they just gave her something for the pain. Hopefully this helps. She had a really hard time last night." He ran a hand through his hair. "Today is a good day though. Not the best, but good. She likes to sit outside on the better days. On others' she just wants to be alone."

Michonne nodded, absently playing with the binding of the journal. James eyes followed her nervous movement, but he made no comment. "She asked for you."

"Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?"

"I…I guess I was hoping it isn't," he admitted. "She has changed so much, but it's still Winnie. She still has the same powerful voice and dazzling smile. It's easy to convince yourself that…"

Michonne pushed lightly on the door and it creaked open, revealing the bright, immaculate white bedroom, she found her mother in the night before when she arrived with her family. It had been years since they laid eyes on each other.

"Chou-chou?" Winnie said as she tried to prop up her now frail body. James was right about her voice. Winnie Westbrook's eloquent and distinct voice simply didn't match her frail state. A soft smile formed on her still stunningly beautiful face. She was tightly bundled in warm clothing and a silk head scarf covered what little remained of her thick dark hair. "Come. Come sit. How are you my love?"

For some reason, Michonne kept the journal hidden against her skirt as she fully entered the room. She fought back tears as she moved toward her mother, placing a kiss on the woman's forehead as she carefully climbed into the large bed. It reminded her of when she was a child, but instead her strong alluring mother, was replaced by a tiny and almost childlike figure. "Hi Mom."

"Don't look at me like that chou-chou," Winnie said weakly as she met her daughter's eyes. "Don't worry yourself and don't feel sorry for me. I'm going to make it. I'll get better and I'll be beautiful again." Her eyes flitted to the ceiling. The doctor's said different. "I must have scared you last night with how sick I was. I didn't even get to see you properly."

"I missed you," she said honestly. "I wish things happened differently."

"Well we can't change the past now can we?" Winnie said with a sad smile. "I'm just glad you're here now. My baby came home." She reached over, twirling one of Michonne's dreads with a bony finger. "You're still wearing your hair like this," she chuckled. "You were always my little free-spirited bohemian child. I don't know how I didn't see it sooner. I supposed it was partially buried beneath everything else that was going on with you. You probably got it from me."

Michonne decided to change the subject from her hair and lifestyle. "How did chemotherapy go? James told me it's been making you really sick."

"Part of the process I guess," she sighed. She reached to grab the neckline of her shirt, pulling it down slightly. "They put in a chest port."

"Does it hurt?"

Winnie sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "It does, but I've endured worse." The implications in her voice didn't escape Michonne's notice. She felt a pang of misplaced guilt.

Michonne took her mother's small brittle hand in hers, her throat tightening. It pained her to see the strongest woman she ever met, curled up into a small frail ball. "The kids are excited to see you. They really want to meet their grandma." The urge to let her tears spill was becoming more difficult to resist.

"Are they, now?" the woman mused. "Little Andre. From your stories, he reminds me of Amare. And I can't wait to meet the youngest one. What was her name again?"

A knot formed in Michonne's throat at the mention of Amare's name. She averted her gaze to the arrangement of peonies on her mother's bedside."Judith."

"Yes Judith and the eldest one. I've only laid eyes on him in passing." "I'm a grandmother," she laughed. "I just hate that this is how they'll see me for the first time. I'd hate to be remembered like this. It'll probably scare them," Winnie said with a self-conscious laugh.

"You look beautiful Mom. You always will."

"Not like before," she said. "James looks at me with pity. I don't want pity. I'm going to get well. I'll be better." She grew quiet, her eyes contemplative. "Is your husband here?"

"Yes and he's excited to see you too," she said carefully as she examined the woman's expression. Winnie simply hummed, opting to not comment. "It's been even longer since you've seen him."

"Nine years." Winnie met her daughter's eyes. "I can't believe you're really here chou-chou. Where are you now?"

"We've been in Atlanta since after Judith was born. He hasn't taken an international job in some years. We're supposed to move again, but we might postpone that for a while. He worries too much."

"Why? Are you pregnant again?" Winnie rasped as her disapproving gaze landed on Michonne's flat stomach.

Michonne didn't respond. "I've been thinking."

She piqued her mother's interest. "About?"

Michonne thought carefully about what she was about to say. "Winfield house and…my disappearance."

Winnie sighed averting her daughter's gaze. "I don't hold what happened against you. It was a difficult situation."

"I'm sorry. I didn't bring this up to upset you," Michonne said. "It's just that…I've avoided thinking about it for so long. Being back in London, brings back so much memories. Even this house reminds me of Winfield. I'm just a little surprised."

Winnie weakly patted her daughter's hand but otherwise grew quiet. She gazed at her only daughter with somber eyes. "It _was_ my fault. All of it."

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 **So we got to see how they first met! Also some little nuggets on Michonne's disappearance.**

 **Review and let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter Three: Kingston Upon Thames

**Chapter Three: Kingston Upon Thames**

 _Everyone loves a good mystery._

"Does he still have that nasty temper?"

"Mom."

"What?" the woman asked innocently as she met her daughter's eyes.

Michonne sighed, dropping her head against the pillow. Her mother was a stubborn woman and there was no changing her mind about certain things or people. "He's…a passionate person, but he _has_ calmed down since you last saw him."

"I just hope he's treating you right is all. With the way he was carrying on and cursing at the house after you…" Winnie let out a humph as she curled further into herself under her thick blankets. She was beginning to sound more and more like the mother Michonne remembered.

"You don't have to worry about that Mom. He's not like that. He loves me and I love him more than anything." She didn't like that her mother was getting worked up over past grievances. She had hoped that the woman had grown past her intense hatred and disapproval of Rick Grimes, but it appeared that would never change. Despite lying in her sick bed and their many years of estrangement, her mother was still stubborn as ever.

Winnie's eyes drifted to the open window in front of them, the white curtains billowing in the breeze. "I remember the day I saw you walking through the front gates of Winfield House. I thought I was hallucinating. You were just standing there. A grown woman," she said. "I spent months, worried out of my mind. I thought I'd never see you again and then there you were. Just like that." Winnie paused, a contemplative look crossed her face. "I read your journals."

"I know." Michonne pulled out the blue book, flipping it open. "I found this in one of the upstairs bedrooms."

The woman, barely glanced at the book, giving her daughter a pleading look. "How did you meet him chou-chou?"

Michonne sat up in the large bed, crossing her legs and balancing the book in front of her. "At a house party. I wrote about it. He's the _him_ I kept referring to."

"I figured. You used to sneak out." Winnie shook her head slowly. "After you were gone, they called me to ask why you were absent and I went to that school and yelled at everybody that would listen until I was hoarse. They lost track of my child." She reached over, lightly touching the pages of the book with her bony fingers. "But deep down I knew that it was me. I lost track of my child. It happened on my watch because I was so caught up in my own life and my own feelings and I wasn't paying attention to what was right in front of me the entire time. Everyone was right to blame me. Even him."

"Mom I need you to understand that it's not your fault. None of it was," she said, emotion building within her. Her mother shouldn't be this tense. It wasn't good for her health. She needed love and positivity. "You were hurting and dealing with a terrible situation the best way you knew how. I blamed you for a lot of things that were out of your control. I know that now."

The woman shook her head sadly, tears welling in her eyes. She looked even smaller and feebler, if that was possible. Her brittle body moved in quick up and down movements as she gasped through her tears. "That was my fault too. Everyone was right in blaming me. James wouldn't even look at me. I should have been paying attention. Then, your brother would still be here and I would still have my Amare."

.

 **Fifteen Years Earlier**

Seeing him again was by pure chance. Or maybe it was fate.

On that particular day, the Marymount senior class was on a daytrip in the royal borough of Kingston-upon-Thames. They were given the task of selecting a particular element of the borough to write their midterm paper on.

"Okay girls," Miss Chambers called as she tried to get everyone's attention. "We will take a break from sightseeing now and meet back by The Coronation Stone in two hours. This is your chance to do a little exploring on your own. There are marvelous eating places and shops around here, so enjoy. As for me, I'm going to indulge myself with some afternoon tea."

"We should go shopping," Andrea said, immediately turning to Michonne. "I think we can make it to the Bentall's Centre and still have time for some good food if we're quick. I'm feeling Bavarian food."

"Mind if I tag along?" Jessie Anderson asked, stepping up to them with a bright smile. For some reason, the blonde girl irritated Andrea to no end. Michonne found it to be rather amusing. She didn't think Jessie was nearly as bad as Andrea made her out to be. Sure, she had her way of inserting herself into situations where she wasn't wanted and she was far too nosy, but it seemed like the girl just wanted to be liked.

She planted a smile on her face, knowing that Andrea was boiling on the inside and fighting the urge to growl out a resounding no to the overly perky girl. It would be up to her to extend some kindness. "Sure. It's better to be grouped up anyway."

The three girls chatted animatedly as they walked through the streets of the small borough in search of the large shopping center. "How'd your date with Mike go?" Andrea asked, casually attempting to make conversation.

"It went well, plus my Mom really likes him." Winnie Westbrook took an immediate liking to Mike when he arrived to pick Michonne up for their date the weekend. He had also not so subtly let her mother know of his family ties.

Andrea snorted, rolling her eyes. "Being the son of a freaking billionaire probably doesn't hurt."

"Ooh la la who is Mike?" Jessie asked, wiggling her eyebrows while Andrea visibly cringed and fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"Michonne's new boyfriend."

"He is not."

"Right," Andrea smacked her forehead dramatically. "It's only the first date. He has met your parents though so that's practically almost boyfriend status."

"Is he cute?" asked Jessie, squeezing between the two friends so that they were on either side of her.

"Yeah," Michonne shrugged, not really wanting to discuss Mike with Jessie. "He's pretty funny too. And he's a great dancer." Mike was a nice and Michonne liked him well enough, but there was no spark and they had very little in common. Maybe she was being too idealistic.

"Oh my gosh shoes!" Andrea excitedly pointed to a small boutique across the street. "We _need_ to stop here first. I've heard about this place."

The girls spent the next half hour trying on shoe after shoe. It came to a point where Michonne started getting bored with it. When Andrea finds a shop she likes, it was difficult to pry her away and it looked like she and Jessie were going to be a while. While Andrea was preoccupied with the vendor, Michonne let Jessie know that she was running across the street to a stationary store she spotted earlier.

The girl cheerily waved her off, promising to let Andrea know.

As Michonne entered the store, she sighed in contentment, feeling at home as she browsed for new writing materials. She ended up selecting a beautiful blue book a few shades darker than her old one that was a perfect replacement. Once she was satisfied with her purchase she made her way back to the small shoe boutique which was surprisingly empty.

"Where the hell could they have gone already?" she wondered out loud. Jessie probably didn't understand what she meant. As she was trying to decide on her next course of action, a familiar dark-haired figure outside of the stationary store caught her eye. He had a bright orange backpack and ha sunglasses on, but he was someone she wouldn't have forgotten easily.

"Hey!" she yelled, barely thinking about her actions.

The young dark-haired man turned around, wearing a confused expression. A mischievous smile crossed his face as he finally recognized her. "Tipsy? Is that you?" His voice was just as smooth and rich as she remembered.

"What are you doing here?" she asked as she strolled down the sidewalk towards him, her stomach fluttering in a surprising reaction to his presence.

"Walkin'. What're you doing? I hope you're not still lookin' for candy in the middle of the street," he teased.

"No, I'm actually looking for my friends. We kind of got…separated." She took in his appearance, gasping as she finally noticed the large, deep purple bruise around his eye and the fresh scratches on his otherwise smooth and angular face. "What happened to you? Did you get into a fight?"

"Fight?" Rick feigned confusion, before dramatically snapping his fingers and pointing to his swollen eye. "This thang? A fuckin' horse kicked me in the face." He cackled loudly at what was apparently a joke to him. A passerby shot him an odd look. "This is nothin'."

"A horse? Seriously?" Michonne crossed her arms, giving him an unamused look. She didn't understand his blasé attitude to what appeared to be a horrible beating.

"Yeah." He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pocket. "The fuck face that did this sure as hell was built like one. If you think this is bad, you should see _his_ face. Trust me, I _gave_ as much as I got." He sounded too proud of himself.

She shook her head, looking away from his mirthful eyes. Something about his presence was confusing and exhilarating at the same time. As with their first meeting, she couldn't resist the appeal of the practical stranger standing in front of her. Her eyes landed on the straps of his bright orange backpack. "You going hiking or something? What's with the bag?"

"Nope. I just carry my life's possessions around in this bag," he said lightly tugging at the straps. "Easy transport and all that."

Her eyes darted up and down the street. What were the odds of her running into him again like this? He had disappeared so quickly when Mike came outside looking for her at the party. She was sure she would never see him again. "Transport? You live around here?"

"I don't," Rick answered simply. "I'm actually just passing through. Seeing what the rest of England has to offer." He studied her carefully, looking at her from head to toe, before finally continuing. "You sure do ask a lot of questions though. Do _you_ live around here?"

Michonne shook her head. "I guess I'm like you. Like a tourist for the day, just seeing the sites and shopping with friends. We're supposed to have lunch later." She scanned the streets around them again. "If I could only find them."

He snapped his fingers. "Ecstasy girl?"

"Yes," she answered, unamused. "And don't call her that."

"Well she did ditch you in the streets at least twice now."

Michonne rolled her eyes, shooting him a dirty look. "She didn't ditch me at the party I was looking for –"

"Candy in the middle of the street," he finished for her with a teasing smile. "Got it." He started walking again and for some reason she fell into step beside him walking further away from where she last saw her friends. Michonne couldn't determine what was happening to her, but something about him was drawing her in. She tried to ask him questions to get a better sense of who he was and what he was about, but his answers were always quick, witty, and vague. It was as if he had a something to hide. It made her uneasy and fascinated at the same time.

As they passed a small antique store, Rick came to a sudden halt. His face paled and a look of what seemed to be panic crossed his face so quickly, Michonne wondered if it was ever really there at all. "What is it?"

"Let's go in here," he said, quickly grabbing her hand and pulling her into the small cluttered shop. As they entered she quickly scanned the street behind them wondering if something or someone ignited his sudden interest in antiquing.

Michonne looked at him incredulously as she took in their surroundings. "You're an antique hunter now?" She wasn't going to question him too much about his strange behavior just yet, but she wanted to make him aware that she was not easily fooled.

"Sure." Rick grabbed a little music box from a nearby shelf. Soft classical music filled the air as he opened the box. "I love these little…stuff." It didn't escape her notice that his knuckles were red and raw as if they had recently connected with a hard surface repeatedly.

"Well, it _is_ pretty cute," she allowed, reaching for the little gemstone encrusted box. Their fingers brushed as she took it, sending tingles up her arm.

"Where'd you come from Rick?" she asked, carefully watching his face.

His blue eyes slowly raked over her face with what looked like confusion. "Georgia."

"No way!" It made a lot of sense considering his Southern accent. "I was born in Georgia. My Mom has some family in Atlanta. We don't visit much, but they're pretty cool."

"I'm actually from a small town not too far from Atlanta. King County."

"What are you doing all the way in England? Family vacation? School?"

"Bullshittin' through life," Rick snorted, as he started studying the items laid out around the shop. He picked up an old vintage camera, peering through the eyepiece as he pointed it at Michonne. "I just wanna see the world. I'm a wwoofer."

Michonne carefully placed the music box back in its place, giving the little lady behind the counter who was carefully eyeing them a friendly smile. "What's a woofer?"

Rick chuckled stroking his chin, as he stared intently at an old oil painting, camera still in hand. She tried to guess how old he was. He seemed to be about her age, maybe a year or two older, she couldn't quite pinpoint it. Everything about him seemed to be shrouded in mystery. "I'm volunteerin' on an organic farm in the country in exchange for food and housing. I needed a cheap way to travel and it's a nice place. Why are you here? You're clearly not from around here either."

For some reason she didn't feel comfortable sharing her stepfather's occupation. It wasn't that she was embarrassed, but it just didn't seem relatable. "My family relocated here a few months ago, so technically I'm from around here now."

He turned away from the painting, his piercing eyes studying her once again. She was frozen under his gaze as he reached over, his large hand wrapping gently around hers as a small smile formed on his lips. Her eyes widened slightly and her breath quickened as his eyes landed on her lips. "I think," he began slowly yet confidently as he played with her pinky. "I think you might be the prettiest person I've ever seen in my life Tipsy."

She swallowed, trying not to squirm or do anything embarrassing. "Is that a pick-up line? Are you hitting on me?" She was surprised her voice remained cool and steady.

He chuckled. "Just thought I'd let you know," he said, his finger twirling around hers, before he pulled away. He lifted the camera to his face once again pointing it in her direction. "I think I'll buy this camera. I bet it takes amazing pictures."

Michonne shuffled her feet, averting her gaze. She wished she could think of something witty to say in response, but she was coming up blank for some reason. "Well, it's getting late and it doesn't seem like you're planning on getting anything from this store." She glanced at her watch. She had time to probably grab some food to go before heading back to the Coronation stone. "Plus I need to be somewhere by two-thirty."

"Yeah, I have places to be too." He made no move to leave.

"Well, see you around Rick," she said, as she slowly turned and started walking away knowing his eyes were most likely still on her.

"Hey Michonne?"

She turned around to face him, raising an eyebrow. She was surprised he remembered her name and even pronounced it properly. His voice caressed every syllable as they left his lips. "Yeah?"

"I'd really like to see you again."

 **Fifteen Years Earlier: After the Disappearance**

"When was the last time you saw your daughter Mrs. Westbrook?"

"A week and a half…no, two weeks. Tomorrow makes two weeks," Winnie sighed rubbing her temple. Her patience with detective Dale Horvath was running thin. She didn't understand why he insisted on a one-on one talk with her only to re-ask his previous questions. She wished they would just go out and at least make an attempt at finding her daughter. "She's in a boarding school. We see her on the weekends, but not last weekend."

"What happened last weekend?"

She gritted her teeth a knot forming in her throat as the unfortunate occurrence came back to her. "She decided to stay at school for the weekend." Michonne didn't call the previous weekend, but Winnie had to assume that it was because she was staying at school.

"Did she display any changes in behavior when you last saw her? Was she more reserved? Afraid? Grieving?"

"Michonne wouldn't run away, if that's what you're trying to get at."

The detective held up his hands. "I'm not implying that at all Mrs. Westbrook, but you'd be surprised what _people_ are capable of doing after traumatic experiences."

"Are you going to do something or are you just going to sit here and psychoanalyze me and my child whom you have never met." Her voice was steadily rising. "She is my child and I know her. Something is _wrong_. Why aren't you doing anything? My husband and I are sick with worry. How many times are you going to come to my house with nothing to show?"

The detective looked down at his notes. "You said she stayed at school last weekend?"

"Yes," she spat. She just wanted the man to do something other than question her and give her distrustful looks. It was bad enough that the disappearance was now in the American press. Apparently everyone loves a good mystery.

"Well according to a statement by Miss Andrea Harrison, Michonne left Marymount at her usual time to go home for the weekend." He looked up at Winnie. "She was picked up by the family's driver and according to his statement, he dropped her off here in the early evening. That a little over a week ago."

Winnie felt her heart drop. "Impossible."

"You didn't know that a car picked up your daughter and at least two people saw her enter the house, one of which is your husband? Are you disputing that?"

"No," she sighed. She didn't know what to think anymore. "I…I don't know."

"Why might that be? She showed up here Friday afternoon, your husband and some of the staff saw her. Then here is the most curious thing of all. The driver was never ordered to bring her back to Marymount on Sunday night. She walked through those doors on Friday and as far as eyewitnesses go, she never walked back out of that front door. Yet, nobody had laid eyes on since Friday," The man took a breath. "How is your relationship with your daughter Mrs. Westbrook?"

Winnie's head was spinning with a million thoughts. She felt sick and embarrassed and the uncomfortable feeling of grief bubbled within her. "Our relationship is fine. We're a close family. A lot has happened in the past month. She wasn't…I never saw…" She stood on unsteady legs, wanting him to stop speaking. To stop judging. "I think it's time you leave now." She weakly gestured to the door of her husband's study. "Please…just do your job and find her. I can't lose her too."

The detective stood up, looking at the woman draped completely in black clothing. "I'll be in touch Mrs. Westbrook. We still have to question her boyfriend. This is turning out to be a very curious case."

"I don't know where she is," she whispered after the door shut behind the detective.

* * *

 **There it is! Any guesses? What happened to Amare? Will Detective Dale find Michonne? Thoughts on Rick? Present day Rick is coming soon.**

 **Review please!**


	4. Chapter Four: Surrey

**Chapter Four: Surrey**

 _It's easy to judge what you don't understand_

* * *

 **Fifteen Years Earlier: After the disappearance**

"What is your relationship with Michonne Westbrook?" Dale Horvath asked, sitting down across from the young man.

"We are – were dating."

The detective flipped open his notebook, scribbling on the page before looking up expectantly. "And when was the last time you saw her?"

He paused, thinking for a moment. "Maybe about two weeks ago?"

Detective Horvath eyed the young man carefully, looking for any signs that he may be lying or hiding important information. This case was high profile and British Intelligence were already alerted an involved. "You seem a little unsure, Michael. And you're dating Ms. Westbrook, correct?"

"Yes, I believe that's what I just said. We went out a few times," Mike shrugged, rubbing his palms against his thighs. "She's a cool girl, but she's not my girlfriend or anything."

"Where were you on the night of the 27th?"

"I was out in London with friends," he answered immediately. "We were at a pub having a few pints."

"At that point, you hadn't seen or heard from Michonne in a few days, correct?"

He let out an exasperated sigh. "We just went out a few times. I didn't know that I was supposed to keep track of the girl because of a few dates She started blowing me off anyway. We haven't been on an actual date in over a month and a half. I think she lost interest and to be honest, so did I. I'm sorry to hear that she's missing though."

The man continued, ignoring the young man's response. "During your time together, did Michonne express any anxieties. Strange behavior? Did she talk about running away? Did she seem as if she were afraid of someone? Anybody new hanging around her?"

"Well," Mike said, stroking his chin as he met the investigators unblinking stare. "There was a guy."

The detective arched his eyebrow. "A _guy_?"

"Yes."

"What did this _guy_ look like?"

"Other than him being white with dark hair, I really couldn't tell you. I never got a proper look at him. He was just there and then he wasn't. Strange bloke."

 **Present**

Michonne stepped into the hallway outside her mother's bedroom and nearly collided with a small figure. "Hey," she said, grabbing the young boy and holding him steady in case he fell backward. "What are you up to?"

"Hey Mom," André said sheepishly, taking a small step back. "Is grandma in there?"

"Yes, but Grandma's sleeping. You will meet her later, okay?" The Westbrook matriarch had managed to exhaust herself with all the tears from built up guilt, anger and resentment.

"Wow, she sleeps more than Judith," the boy huffed, pulling at the edge of his shirt. "Is it true she doesn't like us," he whispered conspiratorially. "Is that why she's sleeping so much? Sometimes I pretend sleep when I want Carl and Colette to leave me alone."

"Sweetie," Michonne said gently, leaning down to meet her son's dark brown eyes. "Grandma is very sick. She has to sleep a lot because her energy is low. And what gives you the idea that she doesn't like us."

"Well, Carl said that's why we've never met her and she never calls," the painfully honest boy replied. "Plus we heard you and Dad, mostly Dad, yelling about her and coming here when we were back home."

She silently cursed her husband's lack of an angry inside voice. "It's more complicated than that okay? Your Grandmother loves you. In fact, she's very excited to see you, your brother and your sisters."

"Really?"

"Of course. She's your grandmother. You're her family," she said, putting an arm around the eleven-year old's shoulder as she guided him away from her mother's door. Like her brother Amare, André had always been a little small for his age. "For now, we'll let your grandmother rest and we'll go find your brother and sister."

"Dad's actually outside with Carl and Colette," he informed her. "Grandpa James is showing them the pond and of course Dad wanted to take pictures."

"You guys had lunch yet?"

He nodded his head animatedly. "Chef Morgan made lunch. I just finished eating." He snapped his finger as if he finally recalled something. "That's why I came to find you. Dad said you need to eat something."

"Of course he did."

As they entered the kitchen, Michonne grabbed a plate, taking a small helping of food. André sat down at one of the bar stools smiling up expectantly at her. "We should do something nice for Grandma, since she's sick."

"That's a great idea," she said as she sat down with him. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well since she doesn't really know us that well, maybe we could make her something to introduce ourselves to her," he mumbled. "We can show her who the Grimes are. Dad has a lot of cool videos and pictures. We can put something together like we did for your birthday."

She smiled at her son in admiration. "You're so smart. You should definitely talk to Carl and your Dad and get this going. Your grandmother would love that."

"Cool," he nodded. "Carl's still in a bad mood though. He wants to call Enid, but there's time difference and Dad says he's still technically grounded for fighting Ron."

"That he is."

"Mom?"

"Yes Andre."

"Are we staying in tomorrow too?" He was already getting antsy. He got that from his father.

"We might," she answered. "Aunty Sasha and your Uncle will be here with your cousins."

He nodded his head, staring down at the table. "She's going to die isn't she?"

"Die? Who –" She realized who he was referring too. She was unsure of how to answer especially since it was something she didn't particularly want to think about or face. She didn't want to lie to her son either. "She's very sick, but we don't know yet."

"I still don't understand why we never visited before. Isn't that what people are supposed to do with grandparents? Visit them and stuff?"

A small cry erupted from the baby monitor. "Looks like your sister is up," Michonne sighed, dropping her fork as she stood up. She was glad for Judith's timely distraction. She always tried her best to be honest with her children, but this wasn't something she was ready to discuss as yet. With the amount of guilt that consumed her, she needed more time.

André followed her upstairs where they found Judith, sitting upright and contentedly kicking her feet as she slobbered on her tiny fingers. "Hi Judy," André cooed as he brushed past his mother to stand over his youngest sister. He took her birth much better than he did when their six-year old Colette was born. After Colette was born he went through a phase of jealousy. He was so used to being the baby that he felt jilted by all the attention the loud needy baby was getting.

Judith gave her brother a bright smile, happily kicking her legs and waving as she giggled. "Your favorite brother is here." He tickled her little foot. "You like me better than Carl, don't you?"

"Day," she squeed in her attempt to say her brother's name. "Day. Day."

"Yes Judes," he said. "Dre is the bestest big brother."

"Car!"

"Well I guess he's alright too. But Dre really is the best," he cooed.

"Day bess."

"Oh my goodness!" André shot Michonne a look of excitement and surprise. "I think just agreed with me."

"You're so silly," she laughed, shaking her head at her jovial son. He always managed to put a smile on everyone's face.

"There you three are." Michonne and André turned to find Rick standing in the doorway wearing a small smile. He stepped into the room pulling of his light raincoat and placing his camera down on a table.

"There's ice cream downstairs bud," he said, ruffling André's hair as he came toward the bed. André didn't have to be told twice. The boy bounded out of the bedroom. His sweet tooth was like no other.

"Did you eat?"

"Yeah." She didn't bother telling him that it was only a few bites.

"Carl is still bitching about Enid," he said as he took a seat on the bed, pulling her down to sit with him. He smiled down at their daughter who was seated in her mother's lap happily exploring the room with her eyes as she babbled Dada. "He wants his phone back, but he's still on punishment though so I'm not budging. He fucked up that Ron kid's face."

"André told me you guys got into it again this morning." Carl was going through his rebellious teenage phase where he sassed his parents and did the exact opposite of what he was told to do. He was basically a tame version of what Rick had apparently been like at that age. In the week before arriving to London, he had skipped English class, fought a kid named Ron Anderson and got caught trying to smoke.

"The boy just doesn't listen," he said shaking his head. "I don't know where the hell he gets it from. He's gonna be a troublemaker."

"Don't know where he gets it from?" She scoffed, nudging him playfully. Carl had the makings of being as mischievous as his father had been. They had a similar way of inviting trouble. Luckily, he also inherited his father's loving spirit. "Leave my baby boy alone. He can't help what's inherited."

Rick smacked his forehead as if he missed a painfully obvious answer. "Oh right. I keep forgetting that you were a delinquent, Tipsy." A small smile formed on Michonne's lips. It had been quite a while since he referred to her by her nickname.

"Let's face it. With the things we've gotten up to in the past few years, our kids are basically doomed. They're natural troublemakers," she laughed. "Better they be like me than you though."

"True," he shrugged, as he moved to lay back on the bed. He patted the space next to him so Michonne could do the same. "I mean, I _did_ break a priceless vase and punch your gatekeeper in the face on my first visit to Winfield house. That first impression was a lasting one. What was his name again? With the mullet. Eustis?"

"Eugene." She laid Judith down, between them moving to mirror Rick's position, lying on her side facing him. "Poor guy was just trying to do his job."

"He was the gate guy, not a fucking bodyguard. He had no business touching me. Especially when I was worried about you," He rested an arm on Michonne's waist making feather light patterns on the upper part of her hip with his fingers. "And he was an accomplice in my eyes. I couldn't let them take you away from me. Even if I was some country bumpkin trying to trap the Ambassador's daughter to get to her trust fund money."

"Nothing can stand between Rick and Michonne," she said quietly, as his hand slipped under her loose blouse to rest on her belly. It was something she had repeated to herself many times over the years. They made a promise to always stay together and they kept it. Even at the cost of family.

"How is she?"

Michonne's breath hitched as her eyes met his empathetic ones. She remained silent at first, gathering her thoughts and feelings about her earlier conversation with her mother. How _was_ Winnie? And how did she feel about it?

"It hurts," she finally sobbed. "Seeing my Mom like that. She was like Superwoman to me when I was growing up and now she's like a small helpless child. She's so weak." She brushed away some of her spilled tears. "And James told me that the doctors don't think she'll last much longer. I spent such a long time being mad at her, but I can't lose my Mom, Rick. Not for good. Once she's gone, that's it. No do overs. I just can't imagine that. Why did I take so long to come back?"

He pulled her as close as he could get her with Judith nestled between them, as her tears spill freely. Years of pent up rage, betrayal and frustration came crashing down. She had so many regrets. She wished she was a better daughter. She wished she made better decisions. She wished Rick had never met Negan. She wished she had been a bigger person. She wished she didn't let their estrangement go on for such a long time, especially knowing how stubborn Winnie could be. She would always win in a game of silent treatment.

Most of all, she wished her brother was still alive.

"Love you Tipsy," he sighed, resting his head against hers.

"Mama," Judith said, making herself known smacking her little palm against Michonne's arm in an attempt to move her. She fussed, growing tired of how closely they were huddled together. "Mama no!"

"Okay, okay. I'm moving," Michonne laughed through tears. "This one is no joke."

"We've got some tough ass Grimes kids." Rick lifted their daughter in the air, grinning up at her. "Isn't that right Judes? You want your space, don't you?" He sat up, placing his daughter on his lap as he pulled his wife properly against his side. She rested her head against his chest, still sniffling from her cry.

They spent the rest of the afternoon wrapped up in the large bed, enjoying the brief silence before one of the kids came knocking or crying.

 **~TAD~**

Winnie was sitting up in bed, propped up by a stack of pillows, when Michonne walked into her bedroom that evening with three of her children in tow. Once again, she was taken aback by how small and fragile her mother appeared beneath the thick blankets. James was seated in a large armchair next to her and he smiled as they entered.

"Hey Mom."

Winnie offered them a small smile as the three children, stood awkwardly around her bedside. Carl, the dark-haired blue-eyed boy seemed like a clone of his father. The eldest boy, stood out amongst his clearly biracial siblings, sharing no physical characteristics with the woman he had come to know as a mother.

"Mom, this is Carl, André and Colette," Michonne said, pointing to her three oldest children as they offered small waves. "Rick is getting Judith."

"You were just a little thing when we last saw you," she said to the eldest boy. He gave her a tight-lipped smile but didn't respond otherwise. Michonne gave his shoulder a light comforting squeeze.

"And you," Winnie said, shifting her gaze to André. It was like seeing a ghost. Every breath she drew and every word she spoke left an aching pain within her body, but she was determined to not let it show. "You look just like your…like your Mommy and her brother." The boy looked up at his mother with a bright grin almost identical to Amare's.

"Mom always says that I look like her brother Amare," he laughed. "Carl and Judith look more like Dad, but I'm glad I look like him and Mom. I wish I could have met him."

Tears welled in Winnie's eyes as she looked at the little boy. She was filled with regret about her daughter's estrangement. There was no reason good enough for them to have gone so long without speaking. Because of their stubbornness, she missed out on seeing her grandchildren grow up. She drove her daughter away and missed out on healing old wounds.

"And little Colette," she sniffed, looking at the six-year old girl that was clutching on to her mother's side. "I'm your grandma." She looked up at Michonne. "She's so pretty. I can see a little of you in her. You have beautiful children sweetheart."

"We have beautiful grandchildren," James said, squeezing her hand lightly.

She imagined what it would have been like if they had made up earlier or were visiting under different circumstances. Her body wouldn't have been plagued with the deadly disease, she would have been a few pounds heavier and she would have been able to properly host her family and interact with her beautiful grandchildren.

There was a light rap on the door and all of the room's inhabitants turned, starring expectantly as they waited for the last two members of the Grimes family to enter.

As the door opened, Winnie's eyes landed on the man who she held responsible for the whirlwind that was the past fifteen years. His very presence was chaotic and it was as if waves of mayhem emanated from him. He stood in the doorway of her large bedroom, baby daughter in hand, staring impassively back at her. She closed her eyes taking a shallow breath before averting her gaze to her daughter.

"Hello Winnie. How are you feeling?"

She didn't dare look at him. She couldn't. Merely breathing and hiding the pain of her illness consumed so much of her of her energy and concentration, she wasn't sure there was enough left in her to pretend that she didn't hate this man with every fiber of her being. "Hello Richard. It's been a long time since I've seen you too." She still didn't trust him, but she didn't have the energy to be anything other than stoically civil. "I'm just hanging in there. I don't feel great, but…that's the way it is these days."

He nodded as he moved further into the room, stopping behind his wife as he placed a comforting hand on her lower back, rubbing gently. "I see you've met the others." He glanced at André who was already nestled near his grandmother. He had always been quick when it came to warming up to new people. "This is your granddaughter Judith. Our youngest."

Winnie's eyes slowly moved to the child in Rick's arms. She was a spitting image of her father. She saw a little of Michonne in the eyes, but the child was pure Rick. "She's an adorable little thing." There was a knot in her throat. "It's been so long since I've held a little baby."

"Would you like to hold her?"

Her eyes found Michonne's. "Will you help me _Chou-chou_?" She weakly held out her arms. "I just want to…"

"Of course Mom." Rick handed their youngest child to Michonne, who moved to sit beside her mother on the bed. The woman tried to sit up straighter as held out her shaky arms for Judith. Michonne passed her daughter to her mother, settling the child in the older woman's lap while helping to support her weight. Judith stared at her grandmother with unblinking and innocent hazel orbs.

Tears welled in Winnie's eyes as she watched her grandchild. She always loved the pureness and innocent that babies could bring to a room. "I'm grandma," she rasped. "I'm your grandma and I love you so much." She looked up at the three other children around her. "I love you all and it's so great to meet you." Tears welled in her eyes. She promised herself that she would keep the crying to the minimum around the children, but it was an emotional moment. "Take her, _chou-chou_."

Once Judith was safely returned to her mother, Winnie looked around the room at the newly introduced family with dreamy eyes. She tried to memorize every little detail on their faces, trying to commit them to memory. These were faces she needed to remember. "I'm so glad you're all here. I'm happy," she said softly. She meant every word.

* * *

 **Fifteen Years Earlier: After the disappearance**

Winnie stood frozen in the doorway of her daughter's chilly bedroom. She wasn't sure how long she had been standing there, but her feet were growing tired. She wasn't sure what she wanted to look for and she was afraid of what she would find. She slowly entered the room, eyes raking over its contents for any clues as to what may have happened to her daughter.

Nothing seemed particularly out of place.

The bed was made.

Horvath's words replayed in her mind.

' _She walked through those doors on Friday and as far as eyewitnesses go, she never walked back out of that front door. Yet, nobody had laid eyes on her since Friday night.'_

She didn't like that he looked at her as if she were a bad or incompetent mother. How dare he judge her as if she didn't know her own child?

Winnie opened Michonne's spacious closet, stepping inside. Some of her clothes were on the floor and there were many open draws, but there wasn't anything alarming about that. She had the tendency to get messy when trying to find the perfect outfit. Her eyes caught the pink fabric of the dress Michonne was supposed to wear to her birthday gala that never took place. She reached forward lightly caressing the soft fabric as she thought of how beautiful it would have been. She had hoped the girl would have worn it for her upcoming graduation party.

She reemerged from the closet, scanning the neat bedroom once again. She couldn't get the man's critical voice out of her head.

' _This is turning out to be a very curious case._ '

An open book sat on the desk, which faced an open window. A cup that held pens was knocked over and some other books were haphazardly stacked in a corner. A cool breeze wafted through the room as Winnie slowly reached for it, recognizing her daughter's writing. She slowly flipped through the pages, where Michonne documented her day to day thoughts and ideas, until she came to the last entry. The page following the entry had been ripped out.

Her heart hammered in her chest as the final words and the bottom of the page stuck out to her as if they were written in neon lights.

* * *

 **So, finally a glimpse of present day Rick and Winnie really doesn't trust him. Plus, some other interesting revelations.**

 **Let me know what you think!**


	5. Chapter Five: Richmond Park

**I've had this written for over a week but I kept hesitating to post because I kept reediting to make sure everything is clear without giving away how this ends. This snow day made it easier for me to post. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter Five: Richmond Park**

 _Don't make your mother cry_

 **Fifteen Years Earlier: The Return of Michonne**

Winnie Westbrook stood in front of the large window in the downstairs tea room in Winfield house. In the months since her daughter's disappearance, her family found themselves at the epicenter of a whirlwind of press. The world wanted to know what happened to the U.S. Ambassador's daughter and conspiracies were abundant.

A dominant faction of those interested in their peculiar story, believed it was an international political affair that the family as well and the U.S. and U.K. government were aware of, but there were international secrets at stake. Some were suspicious of Winnie herself and vehemently claimed that she was the one behind it. She was painted as the strange, cold and calculating wife of a man who, along with her was involved in various shady dealings that led to their family being in shambles. Some believed Michonne either a runaway or sold into sexual slavery. There were frequent 'sightings' of the Ambassador's daughter.

Other's speculated that Michonne was in fact dead and this was the theory that hurt Winnie the most. They convinced themselves that there was a murder or some kind of political sacrifice she was helping to cover it up.

She wasn't one to wear her heart on her sleeve and for most people it would seem that she was completely unbothered by the nasty speculation. Her frustration was building though, and she feared that she may explode at any time. In any case, she tried to keep her head high and maintained that her sole focus was finding her daughter. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling, sucking in a shaky breath. "What did I ever do to deserve any of this?"

She supposed that her luck had just run out. She started out as a young mother who managed to get herself and Michonne out of a difficult situation and change their life for the better. Now, it felt like everything was wrong again.

A small figure in the distance caught Winnie's eye, breaking her out of her reverie. She took a step to the window, trying to make out the figure in the distance. It didn't look like the landscaper. Plus, he wasn't in on Wednesday's.

Winnie's knees buckled as the figure came into view. "It can't be," she gasped. Michonne appeared to be slowly strolling up to the house with one of the gatekeepers following after her with an expression of pure shock.

"James!" she shouted, turning away from the window and all but sprinting out of the tea room.

"What is it?" the man asked, exiting his office on the other side of the hallway. She could hear the surprise and worry in his voice. They hardly spoke each other's name anymore.

"It's her," she gasped. "My baby's back! Come."

"Winnie," James began, with an apprehensive look.

"No really," she said grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the front door. "Come see. It's really her."

"Now darling I –"

She flung the front door open, sprinting out onto the front steps. "My baby," she cried, as she took in the young woman standing less than twenty feet away from her. Michonne had gotten noticeably thinner, but not to the point where she looked unhealthy. She carried a small sack-like brown bag and wore a loose fitting brown dress that fell well below her knees with a light sweater around her shoulders. " _Chou-chou_."

The young woman stopped walking and stared blankly back at her mother. Winnie noticed the swelling around the girl's eyes a tell-tale sign that she had been crying recently. Winnie cautiously took a step forward, approaching her daughter, like she would a wounded animal. She felt James's presence closely behind her, but he knew to keep his distance until they figured out exactly what they were dealing with. They had gone over scenarios like this with the detectives, counselors, and the intelligence agents countless of times.

" _Chou-chou_ ," she whispered, as she got closer to her daughter who now wore her hair in short dreadlocks. She reminded Winnie of the nineties singer, Lauryn Hill.

The girl remained frozen in her spot and Winnie wondered if she may have gone into shock. Winnie exchanged a look with Eugene the gatekeeper and he nodded before slowly backing away to return to his post. She took a few more steps until she stood directly in front of her daughter, who now refused to meet her eyes.

She reached forward, encircling her stiff daughter with her arms. "I'm so glad you're back." As soon as her arms were around Michonne, the girl physically loosened and burst into tears. Deep sobs escaped her as her body shook.

"You're alright baby," she cooed as tears spilled from her own eyes. "I've got you. I'm here."

* * *

 **Fifteen Years Ago: Before the Disappearance**

 _Click_

Michonne looked up from her sketchbook to find Rick grinning down at her, with his usual mischievous eyes as he pointed his camera at her again. "You're still at it?"

"What can I say," he shrugged. "You're an interesting subject for a first-time photographer. I'm developing my skill and style here. Stop cramping my style."

"Cramping your style?" she laughed. "Seriously?"

"Hey!" he said, holding up a hand. "No sassing the photographer. Now get back to your drawing."

"I hope you realize that you're crazy. Completely mental, as the Londoners would say."

"Admit it," he said, as he sat down on the ground across from her. "You kind of like my crazy. At least a little bit."

"When did you even get that camera?" It looked like the same one from the day they were antique store. He either got it that day after she left or he went back for it. Although she didn't understand why he would, considering that camera must have cost an arm and a leg.

He shrugged, averting his eyes. "It just looks cool. Gives me a mysterious edge too, don't you think?"

She snorted. "If you think so."

"Why are you such a hater?"

"A hater? How?" she laughed, hugging her knees along with the book, to her chest.

He put the camera up to his eye snapping another picture. "It would be funny if I go to develop these and all the pictures have my finger blocking the lens," he laughed.

"Maybe it'll give your pictures a _mysterious_ look," she teased.

"Hater."

"You're right. I should stop." Her laughter continued. "You never know. Maybe you'll become the next Ansel Adams."

"Who?"

"Famous photographer."

"Never heard of him," he said. "And what about you? You gonna be the next Picasso or somethin'?"

She grinned at him. "Look at you."

"Call me Mr. Cultured." He wiggled his eyebrows playfully. "But seriously, is art your thing or are you going off to college in a few months to be a Brainiac scientist? I can see that one happenin'. You're one of the smartest people I know."

"I want to take a gap year, but my Mom would never go for that," she sighed, closing the book. "So I'll go to Brown and then law school. I'll probably end up studying international law in the future like my Dad, James."

Rick let out a loud exaggerated snore. "I'm sorry, did you say something? That kind of planned out lifestyle sends me straight to sleep. You almost put me in a coma."

"Shut up." She playfully kicked him with the tip of her shoe and fought the urge to laugh at his antics.

"It's okay, I don't know what I'm doing with my life and I'm completely fine. We're young. We're not supposed to know that stuff yet. At eighteen, you need to be screwin' up and havin' fun, not planning out your future down to the last fucking detail."

She looked at him incredulously. "So you have no idea where your life is headed? Well I'm graduating in a couple of months, so I need to know and I need to have a plan for my future. I'm lucky to have the opportunities I have and I'm not going to waste them. I don't have that luxury. I need to have my shit together so I'll make time to have fun while achieving my goals."

"Well I just graduated and here I am, enjoying being young before I have to work for the rest of my life. I couldn't have made better choices."

"No offense, but that's really doing _nothing_ to alleviate my fears Rick."

"Why not?" he asked, nudging her foot with his. "I'm living the life. Once you get out in the real world, it's just work, work, work until you die. That's how it was for my Dad. The poor bastard. I'm not ready for that shit yet. What's the point of me going to college now and putting myself in debt so I could do something I will probably hate? Fuck that."

"Yeah," she sighed. "You kind of have a point."

"Well, what do _you_ want to do Tipsy? Not what anybody else wants. What you want."

She shrugged. "No idea. I thought you just said we're not supposed to know."

He held up a finger to his temple. "Exactly."

"Are we getting chips again?"

"I'll never understand why they call something that's obviously a French Fry, chips. Why do the British do crap like that? Just to be difficult?"

Michonne shook her head fighting back a laugh. "Maybe we should start making healthier food choices. Get some fresh food instead. That way, we're healthier and you can't complain about food names."

"I get enough fresh food at the farm. This is my chance to pig out."

"Will I ever get to see this mysterious farm of yours?" she asked as she linked her arm with his. "You're always talking about that place and the nice people you live with. And what's the owner's name? Nathan? Negan?"

Rick stiffened noticeably. "I don't live with Negan," he said, as he pretended to be distracted by something in the distance. It was clear to Michonne that he was trying to change the subject. "Hershel Greene owns the farm. Negan's just a friend I met here. We're barely friends actually. More like acquaintances. I don't even know how I brought his name up. We barely talk or see each other."

"Acquaintances," she hummed, watching him carefully. In the past month she and Rick had spent a lot of time together. They would meet up at the park once or twice a week and had little food dates while trying their hands at art. They never planned it ahead of time or even spoke about their meetings. They simply showed up every Wednesday at noon. He was great company and a friendship grew. He opened up more to her and she had learned to read him quite well despite his sometimes secretive behavior. She knew when he was lying or trying to hide something.

"It's okay. I was just joking around. It sounds like a cool place is all. I understand if that was weird for you. We're practically acquaintances ourselves."

"It's not that it's weird," he said without elaborating.

They quietly strolled to their favorite fish-and-chips place at the edge of the park. As they passed a group of people on Rollerblades, he took her hand, twirling her in a circle as if they were on a dance floor. "What are you doing?" she giggled.

"Do they have dances at that Academy of yours?"

"None so far."

"All girl's school right?"

"That's right. Is there–"

Her sentence was cut short as a little black floppy eared dog dashed across in front of her, its yellow leash trailing behind as calls for "Sammy!" followed.

"My little brother really wants a dog. He'd be so jealous if he were here." She smiled as she watched a little girl cross their path chasing the black puppy, her mother hot on her heels. "My mother's not having it though. She hates animals."

Rick gasped, dramatically clutching his chest. "What kind of monster hates innocent little puppies."

"Oh be quiet," she laughed, playfully shoving his arm. "She doesn't hate puppies, she's just not very fond of them. They're messy and they tear things up and all of that. Plus, I think she might be allergic."

"I'm just playing with you Tipsy," he said, most likely afraid that he may have offended her.

"I know you are."

On days like this, they typically parted ways after eating, and she wished there was a way to extend the time. He had an easy presence. It was evident that they were quickly developing a friendship. A friendship that she knew almost certainly wouldn't last. Like her, Rick was simply temporarily in this country and after some time they would both move on to somewhere else and it was unlikely that this somewhere would be close.

Perhaps she should be used to it by now. As a child of an ambassador, she never stayed in one country for more than three years, so lasting friendships were rare. Especially with people as flighty as Rick Grimes.

"What's going on in that brilliant head of yours?" Rick asked, breaking her out of her thoughts.

"Nothing."

He carefully watched her expression. "Doesn't look like it."

"It's personal." She shot him a mischievous grin. "Why do you need to know what I'm thinking? It's not like I ever know what's going on in your head."

"Chaos."

"Just as I suspected," she tsked as they entered the small shop. "You plan out your delinquent behavior. I knew that spontaneity was all for show."

They ordered their food and sat in a familiar spot as they shared their meal. Rick started sharing stories of growing up on a farm while Michonne listened in awe as he recounted the time he tried to destroy his neighbor's car with his father's tractor. Apparently thirteen-year old Rick had a very bitter rivalry with his fifty-year-old neighbor.

Soon the food disappeared and they slipped into comfortable silence. Michonne was the first to stand, ready to bid her friend goodbye until their next meeting. "See you Rick."

"Bye Michonne."

~TAD~

"There you are _chou-chou_!" Winnie called as Michonne walked through the front door of Winfield House. She looked elegant in a blue cocktail dress paired with a pearl necklace and earrings. "I was looking for earlier for you to mind your brother. I didn't know you were out. Why didn't you say something?"

"I was at the park with a friend." She didn't bother telling her that it was Richmond Park and she rode the bus for an hour to get there. They currently had visitors at Winfield House. There were journalists doing a story on a day in the life of an American Ambassador. There was also a foreign dignitary and his family spending the weekend so it was nice to get away from the busy mansion before the dinner party they would be having the next day. "I told James I was leaving."

"Amare would have loved that instead of having lunch with me and the ladies," she mused. Amare had the tendency to get restless when he was home from boarding school on the weekends. "You should take him with you the next time you go. He doesn't like being cooped up and he will be able to run some of that extra energy off."

"Sure mom," she said as she headed towards the stairs. "Where is the little booger by the way?"

"I think he's having dessert." Winnie tilted her head to the side as she took in Michonne's appearance. "Your hair looks nice like that _chou-chou_. Very feminine."

"Thanks." She turned to face her mother as she touched the edge of her floral scarf that held her twist-out up in a curly up do.

"Before you head up, I wanted to talk to you about something."

Talk.

Lately, there was a noticeable distance between the inhabitants of Winfield House. They were a picture of modern perfection, but that's as far as it went. It was all appearances. Nobody spoke anymore. At least, not really. There were smiles, exaggerated laughter and political discussions, but there was an underlying coldness that wasn't quite there before. Michonne was often left wondering if her mother and James were having marital problems.

"What's up?"

"I was talking to the Deanna Monroe earlier and I mentioned your birthday coming up which gave me a wonderful idea," she said. "We should have a party. Eighteen is a big one. You can invite your Marymount friends and even Michael." Winnie gave her a knowing smile. She met Michael when he came to collect her for their first date and she took an instant liking to the young man. She was even more pleased when she learned of his family connections. "I'll have to talk to your father about it, but I'm sure he'll love the idea. Why wouldn't he?"

Michonne really wasn't interested in seeing Michael or pretending to like or be interested in any of the people she knew her mother would invite. "I…I don't know Mom."

"Don't worry. You'll love it." While her voice was light and cheerful there was finality in her words. "Did you get a chance to try the dress on again? It's so beautiful."

Michonne did not usually frequent the diplomatic banquets and parties, but her mother insisted that she attend this one. Even though she was required to go, she was actually looking forward to this particular reception. They would be hosting an American culture night and some of her favorite singers and actors would be in attendance.

"Yeah and it looks great," she grinned. "I'm still mad that we didn't get Beyoncé though. She's the pinnacle of American culture."

Winnie threw her head back in laughter. "You and me both sweetheart." Something or someone across the hallway caught her eye and she lifted her hand in a dainty wave. "See you at dinner, okay _chou-chou_? I have to show Deanna the new additions to the gardens."

Michonne trudged up the staircase that led to the bedrooms. She almost collided with a small body as she entered her own bedroom. "Amare, what are you even doing in here?" she exclaimed. "What did I tell you about hanging out in here when I'm not here?" The boy smiled sheepishly at her. "You better not be playing in my makeup again. You spilled my eyeliner everywhere the last time. I still have stains on my favorite shirt."

"I was trying to be batman," he said, defending himself. "I _needed_ whiskers, Michie!"

"Do bats even have whiskers?"

"Yeah they do."

"Well either way, _Batman_ doesn't have whiskers, so stay out of my eyeliner." She playfully flicked him on his forehead as she went to plop down on the edge of her bed.

"Is mascara eyeliner?" he asked innocently.

"Amare."

He followed after her, taking a seat beside her. "Mom says the guy that plays Batman is coming here tomorrow. That's so cool."

"That _is_ cool," she agreed.

"She won't let me dress up as Batman to meet him," he pouted crossing his arms. "She's so unfair sometimes. I don't want to wear that stupid suit."

"You'll live kid." She playfully ruffled his curly dark hair. "Why are you in here by the way? Aren't you supposed to be having dessert or something."

His brow furrowed. "That was like…" He stuck his tongue out, tilting his head to the side as he thought about it. "An hour ago. And it was gross!" He shuddered at the memory. "Chef Gordon says our family is eating healthier from now on. That's just not fair. Desserts need to be sweet."

"What did he give you to eat?"

"Wheatgrass yogurt."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

"It was horrible!" he declared. "I blame that Deanna lady."

"Tell you what," she said, turning to face him. "I'll help make up it up for Gordon torturing you with wheatgrass. I want something in return though."

"How are you going to do that?"

"I'll help you become Batman for the party tomorrow. Whisker's and all."

Her easily pleased brother seemed to think about it for a moment and then a wide smile spread across his face as he nodded enthusiastically. "That'll be so cool! What do I have to do?"

"Exactly as I say."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Review and let me know what you think.**


	6. Chapter Six: Grosvenor Square

Things are going to start to pick up and fall into place. I hope this isn't confusing. Let's check in with present day Richonne and their four kids. The first five chapters basically set everything up.

* * *

 **Chapter Six: Grosvenor Square**

 _I raised you that way_

 **Present**

"Open." Michonne held the little spoon of mashed peas in front of her daughter. Judith opened wide, her two little teeth showing as she closed her mouth around the spoon, her curious dark brown eyes darting around the room.

"Mom?"

Michonne turned to face Carl, who was looking at her expectantly. Knowing her son, he was about to ask for something he shouldn't ask for. "Yeah?"

He glanced over his shoulder out of the corner of his eye as if he expected Rick to round the corner at any moment. "Can I just have my phone back for like five minutes? He doesn't even have to know. I just wanna send Enid a Facebook message. I promise I'll give it right back."

"Daddy said you can't have your phone back Carl!" Colette loudly answered for her mother. If Rick was anywhere in the vicinity, he would have certainly heard her.

"Don't even try it. I'm upset with you too. Plus, you sent her a message yesterday," Michonne reminded him. "What you did was wrong and I have yet to see you show that you truly understand that. Do you understand _why_ you're being punished Carl?"

"Ron is an asshole and he's always talking shit to me. He totally deserved every freaking punch. I'm glad his eye is swollen shut. I swear, you guys don't even understand. I just want to –"

Colette and André both gasped dramatically at Carl's language, looking at their mother to see her response. They often did the same thing when their father's potty mouth got the best of him and he was raging about something or the other. Carl was too much like his father. Perhaps she and Rick really were raising delinquents.

"Watch your mouth. And I said no." She held up a finger. "That no will last a whole lot longer if you're not careful."

"I'm telling Daddy," Colette declared, looking at her mother. She was a Daddy's girl through and through.

Carl rolled his eyes and shot a glare at his little sister. "Mind your own business Colette."

Judith started getting restless and began squirming in her highchair. Michonne lifted her into her arms before turning back to her other three children who were probably on the verge of starting a fight.

"Okay guys," Michonne kept her voice firm. "None of that. Eat your breakfast and be nice to each other."

"But Daddy said –"

She turned her attention to her eldest daughter. "I know Colette and I already let Carl know he can't have it. He understands that."

"Colette's just a tattletale," André said, his mouth full of food. "Remember the Grimes sibling handshake? You're supposed to have our backs Colette. It's in the code of ethics."

The little girl's face twisted in confusion and she let out a huff returning to her breakfast. "I am not," she grumbled. She was no longer interested in talking to her brothers. They would now be vehemently ignored until she got over it and wanted playmates. She would still tell her father about Carl as soon as he entered the house though. As a Daddy's girl, she had her self-determined duties to fulfil and that included telling on her brothers when they misbehaved or broke the rules.

"Alright listen to me," Michonne said, getting their attention. Four pairs of eyes looked in her direction. "I'm going to go check on your grandmother. Can the three of you stay out of trouble and finish your breakfast while I run upstairs?" She glanced at Carl, who was slumped in his seat, still visibly upset about his lack of phone and social media access. "Carl you're old enough. This is your chance to prove your responsibility."

"We're fine Mom." He uncrossed his arms and gave her a small smile of understanding and she ruffled his hair, knowing that the sweet, respectful boy she raised was somewhere underneath all the teenage angst. "Go ahead. Tell grandma we said mornin'"

Winnie was sitting up against the headboard when Michonne entered her bedroom. The woman's face brightened and her mouth curved into her smile when she spotted her youngest grandchild in Michonne's arms. "Hey Mom."

"Morning Chou-Chou," she rasped. "Hello little one."

Michonne sat down in the arm chair next to the bed, adjusting Judith in her lap. The little girls chubby fist gripped on tightly to her mother's shirt as she surveyed the new scenery of her grandmother's bedroom.

Her mother's eyes were glassy as she watched them. "She's so cute _Chou-Chou_. Where are the others?"

"The kids are still having their breakfast and Rick went out for something with James." Michonne knew her question was only regarding the children and she didn't give two shits where Rick was. He could disappear into thin air for all she cared.

"I miss eating solid foods." Winnie gestured to her IV bag. "I'm looking forward to a nice English breakfast when I feel a little better."

Michonne reached out to take her mother's frail hand in hers. "I'm looking forward to that too." _Why did I take so long to see her again?_

"Sasha and the kids will be here later. She said they haven't seen you in a long time." _They want to see you before it's too late._ "I haven't seen a long time myself. It was nice of them to fly in to see us. It'll be like a mini reunion."

Winnie didn't immediately respond. She kept her eyes on the cooing little girl in her daughter's arms. It was still strange seeing her daughter as a grown up, married woman with four children. Michonne was barely what she considered an adult the last time she saw her.

"Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"You okay?"

Winne weakly batted away at the tears she didn't realize had spilled from her eyes. "I was just thinking baby."

She adjusted Judith in her arms. "What were you thinking about? It looked like you were in another world."

"You remember that afternoon we spent together? When we just went all out in the kitchen?" Her voice was slow and labored. "You…randomly came home from school in the middle of the week and I remember thinking how nice it was to have you home. I realized what little time we spent together. You were always away at that boarding school and when you came home on the weekends, I barely saw you. I realized that when you went missing."

Michonne smiled sadly. Thinking back to that day and what transpired before she ultimately decided to pay her mother a surprise visit. "It was a good day. We almost spilled the entire pot of rice on the ground too."

"Goo ay!" Judith mimicked with a loud coo as she brought her little fists together in a clap. She was such a happy baby, unlike Colette, who was a colicky baby and a very tearful toddler. André and Carl, who had been particularly excited about the prospects of a new sibling grew quickly tired of that idea. At one point, André even asked if they could return Colette to Michonne's stomach. He was no longer interested in having a little sister. Rick was incredibly amused by that suggestion.

Winnie smiled weakly. "You remind me so much of myself when I was younger. I see myself when I look at you with her in your arms."

"Is that a good thing?"

"In some ways, it is. You're stubborn like me. Especially when it comes to your heart."

"That stubbornness hasn't really gotten us anywhere though," Michonne laughed humorlessly. "What good did any of that do in the end?"

"I'm just glad you didn't put your education on hold after everything," she rasped. "You still draw _Chou-Chou_?"

"I do, but now it's become more than just a hobby."

* * *

 **Fifteen Years Ago: Before the Disappearance (That Afternoon)**

"Where are you off to, girlie?" Andrea asked as she entered her and Michonne's shared dorm room. She was carrying a stack of books that she unceremoniously dumped on her desk as if it had been burning her arms the entire time she carried it there.

"I'm shadowing my Dad today for my Global Studies class," Michonne answered as she shoved her notebook into her bag and spun around looking for her favorite sweater. "I need to interview him for my report and he thinks it's best done at work. So, I can get the real work vibe and all that jazz."

"Seriously?" Andrea snorted as she plopped down on her bed. "Well, have fun with that. I wish I had your work ethic. I would have just made something up. Skip the formalities."

"What's with the books? I didn't know you read," Michonne teased.

"I was trying to make a friend," she said with a shrug. "I'm terrible at Calculus and I was hoping that Lena "Brainiac" Price would become my friend so she can help me. She's good at that stuff." She inspected her bright red fingernails. "No such luck. My wonderful array of books didn't impress her. I don't understand what else I'm supposed to do to get through to that girl."

"And you're still nuts."

"But you love me for it." Her eyes focused on Michonne's attire for the first time since she entered the room. She rolled onto her stomach, resting her chin on top of the back of her hand. "I love that sweater. It fits you so perfectly. Are you sure you're not going to see Michael after this meeting."

"No." She answered a little too quickly.

"Spill. Now."

"There's nothing to spill Andrea. I'm just going to the chancery in London and I wanted to look nice is all. Professionalism is key. I want it to feel like a real interview."

The corner of her mouth curved up. "I don't believe you. A blazer is professional. You look like you're going for a walk in the park with a date."

"Doesn't matter if you believe me or not," Michonne sang. She zipped up her coat and hoisted her bag over her shoulder, quickly checking her refection in the mirror. "My car should already be here and I'm not keeping the driver waiting so we can play 20 questions."

"I'll get it out of you later. I know where you live Westbrook!"

Michonne stuck out her tongue at her friend as she rushed out of her bedroom. Once outside her building she strolled across the large courtyard enjoying the uncharacteristically bright day. Spring was right around the corner and soon the London weather would be slightly less dreadful. As she made her way to the designated pickup area, she spotted Simon the driver, standing next to her family's black town car holding the back door open for her.

"Hey Simon," Michonne greeted the mustachioed man as she entered the car. Simon recently came into the Westbrook's employ and he was quite a colorful man. Drives with him were often filled with hyperbolic stories of his youth and his views on life in general. He would often wear a cheesy grin and break out in fits of wheezing laughter after any attempt of making a joke.

"How are you today Miss Westbrook?" He asked as he climbed into the front seat.

"I'm great! How about you?"

"Fantastic," he grinned. "So, you're off to see your father today."

"Yep. It's for a school project."

"So, you'll be returning to Marymount after?"

"I will be," she said, pulling out her sketchbook to keep herself occupied during the short ride to London. Her mouth curved into a small smile as she admired her latest sketch. She was looking forward to the finished product.

Thirty minutes later Simon pulled in front of the London Chancery Building in Grosvenor Square. She told Simon she would not need a ride back since she had every intention of going to the park after her meeting with her father. As she entered the building she checked her time, noticing she was a little early and would most likely have to wait a while if her father was still in a meeting.

She contemplated taking a walk down the street to grab something to eat before the meeting, but decided against it, considering that she was going to the park after the interview and would most likely get something to eat there.

It was rare for Michonne to visit the Chancery building since most of her father's duties were conducted at Winfield House. Even though she was accustomed to life as a child of a Diplomat, she tended to feel dissociated from their lifestyle. It almost felt too grand for her. It was as if she was supposed to be someone else. Something about her life never quite fit.

When she arrived in the large decadently decorated office area, she was met with silence. Amelia, the executive assistant, was not at her desk and the waiting area was empty. She wondered if her father, the mission and staff were out for some reason. After all, she _was_ early.

She walked over to one of the leather couches, sliding her hand against the smooth material as she walked around it to sit down. She checked her time once again, noting that she was still twenty minutes early. Her father and the staff were probably having a meeting somewhere else.

Michonne slipped her bag open, fully intending to work on her latest sketch while she waited, but an audible thud from the other side of the room caught her attention. It came from the other side of her father's office door.

She closed her bag and stood, slowly making her way toward the source of the noise. She paused in front of the office door, listening carefully. It sounded like someone was conversing on the other side of the door. She supposed her father was in the office after all.

"Dad?" she called, as she turned the knob. She intended to alert him of her arrival since Amelia was still nowhere to be found. As the door swung open, the sight before her immediately filled her with dread. "Dad!"

James Westbrook stood in front of the large draping windows with his arms wrapped around the woman and his lips were locked with hers. Time seemed to slow down as the man and his companion hastily pulled away from their compromising embrace, guilty panicked expressions marring their faces. "Michonne."

"What are you..."

"This is _not_ what it looks like."

Michonne felt herself stepping back, as her heart hammered in her chest and she grew more and more nauseous. She felt tears of anger filling her eyes and she wanted to disappear. She wished she never saw what she had just seen.

"Michonne –"

She didn't wait for an explanation. She ignored James' apologetic cries as she ran out of the office. Her feet seemed to be moving on their own accord as she exited the Chancery building and sprinted down the road. She received a few odd looks from passerby's, but she didn't care. She darted down the street as if she was being chased by a pack of wolves.

By the time, she arrived at Richmond Park sadness was gone and anger had settled in. Rick was sitting under their tree when she arrived at the park. Her mind remained jumbled from her encounter with her stepfather and his secretary.

"Hi friend," Rick called with a wide grin as she eased down next to him, pulling her jacket tighter around herself.

"Hey."

His forehead creased as he took in her body language and expression. "What's with the face?"

She forced a small smile trying to keep her emotions in check. She was still trying to process what she had witnessed. "What face?"

He shrugged, still eyeing her carefully. "You look bothered by something. Did ecstasy girl mess with you?"

"I'm fine." The words came out with more irritation and defensiveness than she intended.

He ignored her acerbic tone, choosing to continue with his assessment of her mood. "You sure? You look even more than bothered. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were angry." His tone was serious. For a second, the joking carefree Rick disappeared and was replaced with a more sensitive version.

"Well, I'm not."

"Well your –"

"I said I was fine Rick." She didn't mean to snap at him, but she really didn't want to think or talk about what she saw.

"Wow," he whistled, crossing his arms. "I think we're having the first fight of our relationship. I'm not sure how I feel about this. Should we celebrate this milestone or will this be the argument that breaks us?"

She drew her lower lip between her teeth, trying to hold back her urge to laugh at his silliness. "Relationship?"

He shrugged and if she didn't know any better she could have sworn that his cheeks turned pink. "Yeah. Friend- _ship_ is a type of re-la-tion- _ship_ , isn't it?"

She smiled teasingly at him, unable to fully resist his charming goofiness, even with the inner crisis she was currently having. "So, we're friends?"

He nudged her shoulder with his. "Why you gotta be so mean to me Tipsy?"

"How am I being mean?"

" _So, we're friends_?" he repeated trying, and failing, to mimic her voice.

"I do _not_ sound like that." She felt a genuine laugh escaping her. "What was even that voice?"

"You really do sound like that. Especially with that prissy little accent. Where is that supposed to be from anyway?"

"I grew up in many different countries," she said defensively. "I never stayed in one place for more than three years, so I don't even think I have a clear specific accent. I picked up bits of every country I've lived in. It happens when you're a boarding school kid."

"Exactly. It's all over the place." He eyed her carefully. "Why'd you move so much? Are your parent's anthropologists or something? You're part of traveling circus aren't you. A dance troupe? It would explain everything."

She rolled her eyes. "Ambassador's daughter, remember?" She couldn't remember if she ever told him what her father did for a living or why they were in London now.

"That's right." He surveyed her carefully and there was a glimmer in his eye. "The Ambassador's daughter with the flimsy accent."

"Now _you're_ being mean to me." She rolled her middle finger into her thumb and quickly moved to flick his arm as if he were an annoying bug. "Stop it."

"Ow!" he yelled dramatically. "Abuse too? I'm having second thoughts about this relationship, Tipsy. I'm reevaluating my choices in a friend because I'm getting' hit by a partner that is well known for drinking too much. Hence the name Tipsy."

She waved him off. "Oh hush."

"So, I nearly got trampled the other day."

"How?"

"One of the horses had a scare and scared another one and next thing I know they're galloping towards me full speed," He said. "It's a good thing I'm a country boy from Georgia. I was able to handle that pretty well. It impressed Hershel which is always good."

"Were you?" she grinned. "Look at Mr. Southern Twang, handlin' them horses."

"Are you mocking me?"

"No way," she laughed. "Anyway, it looks like we both almost got trampled over the weekend. We have _so_ much in common now."

"You ran into horses?"

She shook her head. "My little brother may have set out a false alarm about certain flying mammals being in our house. All while being dressed like said mammal. Some people took him seriously and freaked out."

Rick snorted, confusion etched on his face. "What?"

"Remember the party I was telling you about? Well I dressed up my little brother as batman. It was going well at first and he performed a choreographed dance number complete with jazz hands. But then he somehow convinced half the room that his collection of bats was loose in the house."

Rick laughed hard. "What on earth?"

"Celebrities and politicians are idiots," she said, giggling uncontrollably. "It was hilarious. My mom didn't think so though."

"I'm glad you're in a better mood Tipsy." He looked down at her hands, which were clasped in her lap instead of scribbling in her sketchbook with a pencil. "Are you going to draw anything today? You don't even have your sketchbook out."

She stared down at her hands, her father's betrayal returning to the forefront of her mind. She wished she had never found out. She was now in a difficult situation. What would she tell her mom? What would this mean for their family. She certainly couldn't keep it a secret and James should know better than to expect her to. Her loyalty would always lie with her mother.

"My stepfather is cheating on my Mom," she blurted out. "I caught him before coming here. I don't know what I should do." She covered her face in her hands. "And I have no idea why I just told you that. This is weird. Forget I said anything. It's…I think I just really needed to let that out."

Rick didn't respond right away. He stared forward thinking of the right thing to say, which was rare for him. He usually said whatever popped into his mind.

"You should tell her."

Her eyes welled with unshed tears as she met his. "I…I don't…she loves him." Or at least she loved the idea of him she built up in her mind. "I just don't like being in the middle of this. I wish I never saw anything. Things would be easier that way. He said it wasn't what it looked like and they were just kissing."

"You believe that?"

She leaned back on her palms looking up at the gray sky as a single tear spilled from her eye. "No." She brushed the tear away with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry. I don't even know why I'm telling you this. You probably don't want me, a virtual stranger, dumping my family issues on you like you're some kind of therapist." She thought she probably sounded like those angsty teenage girls in movies going on about their nonsensical family drama and how much they hate their lives and their parents. She had no intention of being that person.

He placed his hand over hers, taking her hand in his. "It's fine. I don't mind. I'd listen to anything you had to say, Michonne." His mouth curved into a teasing smile. "Plus, I'm a sucker for some good gossip." And just like that she was smiling again.

~TAD~

Winnie Westbrook was surprised to see her daughter standing in the foyer, on a Wednesday afternoon. "Chou-Chou?" She slowly descended the staircase. "What are you doing home in the middle of the week? You okay?"

She wanted to tell her. Her tongue danced with the need to spill every detail about what her eyes witnessed a few hours earlier. She wanted her mother to know about James betrayal and that he could not be trusted, but for some reason she couldn't bring herself to say the words she wanted to say. "Yeah. I'm fine. I just missed you is all."

Winnie looked both surprised and unconvinced. "You did?"

"Yeah." She couldn't meet her mother's gaze straight on. Not when she knew what she knew. "Hey mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we…make something? Like we used to when I was younger. You know. Before…" She wanted to say _before you married James. Before we became picture-perfect. Before I found out that picture wasn't so perfect after all._

Winnie smiled, her eyes darting in the direction of the kitchen. "Should we kick Gordon out and make grandma's specialty?"

She found herself smiling back. "We should."

It was funny that her mother mentioned grandma, when they hadn't spoken to or seen the woman and the rest of the family in years.

"James is going to love this. Bring on the _riz collé aux pois_."

Michonne felt a mixture of grief and rage at the mention of her stepfather's name, but kept her reaction neutral. _Not yet._

"So, how is school?"

"Great."

"You seem a little down," Winnie observed. "You sure you're okay? Is it Michael? Did you…"

Michonne shook her head. "We're not even dating. Mike and I are just friends. I'm fine. Really." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I just missed you. I guess I was a little homesick."

Winnie looked at her daughter for a beat longer before nodding her head in understanding as she marched toward the kitchen where she would inform Gordon the chef that his services would not be required for that particular evening. The two Westbrook women spent the rest of the afternoon, cutting vegetables and mixing food as they reminisced about the days when they were both younger and immature in their own ways. Winnie as a young mother and Michonne as a young child being raised by someone who in many ways was a child herself. She hadn't been the best mother in the beginning, but she improved in many ways. Especially after her marriage.

"Look at the life we have _Chou-Chou_ ," Winnie said nostalgically as she heaped a serving of rice onto a plate. "Can you believe it? I never dreamed I would end up in a place like this. I made some terrible choices in my life, but this was by far one of my best." She looked at her daughter adoringly. She was happy Michonne was at a prestigious school and was around people like Michael. She didn't want her daughter to make the same mistakes she made. She wouldn't allow it.

Michonne looked away from her mother wondering what specifically about their life was better. Was marrying James and coming into wealth her mother's life accomplishment. If it was, then that was a sad way to measure success and worth. Especially with her knowing what she knew.

When James arrived home that evening he was unpleasantly surprised to see Michonne and Winnie seated around the dining room table. His heart dropped and he was fully prepared for the wrath that never came. All was well with his wife while his daughter refused to meet his gaze, instead opting to stare forward impassively as Winnie made him a plate. It was undeniably the most uncomfortable evening of his life.

Michonne didn't reveal James' secrets on that day.

* * *

 **What do you think? Review and let me know.**


	7. Chapter Seven: Midlands

**Chapter Seven: Midlands**

 _With a friend to call my own_

* * *

 **Fifteen Years Earlier: Before the Disappearance**

"I still haven't told my Mom about what I saw that day."

Rick's eyes shifted from his camera to Michonne upon hearing her revelation. Michonne stared down at the grassy roadside as they walked along the vacant streets of the English countryside. It was quite a change from how she normally spent her weekends.

"Why not?"

She shrugged, hugging her sketchbook closer to her chest. "I guess don't know how to bring it up. Plus, we haven't even been alone enough lately for me to be able to tell her. She's always busy doing whatever it is that she does during the day. I'm not entirely sure to be honest."

"Aren't they out of the country right now?"

"Just my Mom. She's on her ladies only vacation to the Maldives," She sighed, rubbing her face. She was both thankful and regretful about walking in on James. "How much further?"

"Not far."

She nudged him with her arm to capture his attention. "Thanks for inviting me. I love Marymount, but it's nice to get away sometimes. I _really_ needed to clear my head. The past few weeks have been crazy."

"I never understood the point boarding school," he mused as he continued fiddling with the camera. "I always hated school, so I can't imagine being there all the time. It sounds like fucking torture. I guess the plus side is that you learn to live independently, but is there really a reason for it? It seems so depressing. You don't even live that far away. What's the point?"

She shrugged. "It's not that bad. I've been in boarding schools for most of my life. One time my school was even in a different country, so I only saw my family once a month. Sometimes less. Now, I'm even closer to home and I can go home whenever I want."

"I guess." He didn't sound convinced. "But why not just stay home all the time? What's the point? You know, I read that people who go to boarding school are more likely to get depressed and hide their emotions later in life. Abandonment issues too."

She shot him an incredulous look. "I really doubt that."

"I read it. Can't remember where, but I read it. So, it has to be true."

She shook her head at his antics and couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. She always seemed to be smiling whenever they were together. "Sure Rick."

"I guess it'll prepare you," he continued. "You're going to…Brown this fall? Right?"

"Yep." She smiled at the thought of starting college. "Most likely. I have a couple of months before I make an official decision though."

"I'm sure you have a lot of choices. I can tell you're a genius."

"What about you? You said you would start this fall too. Plus, you're pretty smart yourself."

He shrugged. "Probably. I don't know what I want to do with my life though, or if Georgia State would even help me figure that out. Maybe I'll join the police academy. I don't know. Like I said before, I'm bullshitting."

Michonne looked up at the sky, frowning as she watched the thick clouds roll closer. So much for a beautiful afternoon. Was there ever going to be a day when it didn't rain in England? "I think it might rain today. Such a shame." She looked down at her feet. "It's a good thing I wore my rain boots."

He turned, snapping a picture of her; something he seemed to do a lot lately. Before she could protest, he turned back in the other direction. "Here we are." Rick pointed to the sizable brick house across a wide meadow that seemed to have materialized before them.

A smile slowly made its way across her lips as she took in the scene in front of her. "Are those dogs? And sheep?" she asked, referring to the animals roaming in the field.

"Of course," he said with a smirk as she threaded her hand through his. "This is the real deal. Wait until you see the alpacas and the emu."

She couldn't tell if he was being serious or not.

Rick led her across the meadow and towards the two-story house. As they approached, the sound of hooves galloping across grass caught their attention. They turned to find a gray-haired man who looked to be in his forties, seated on a brown horse. He reined in the horse as he approached them, offering a friendly smile. "Hello there."

"Hey Hershel." Rick reached out to stroke the horse's mane. "Out for a ride?"

"Yep." He patted the side of the horse, shooting a curious glance in Michonne's direction. She didn't miss the way he subtly met Rick's gaze with a quirked eyebrow. "And who might this be?"

"This is a good friend of mine." Rick beamed at her. "Her name is Michonne. Michonne, this is Hershel. He owns this farm with his wife Anette. They're the reason I haven't starved to death yet."

"It's nice to meet you."

"It's a pleasure to have you here. I'm sure Rick will waste no time in showing you around." The man smiled kindly at Michonne as he dismounted his horse, his eyes crinkling at the corners displaying his age. His eyes shifted between her and Rick. "Will you be joining us for supper this evening?"

Rick quirked an eyebrow, his blue eyes filled with mirth. "Will you?"

"I don't know. I don't want to intrude. You guys probably..."

"Nonsense." Hershel waved her off as he handed Rick the horse's reins. "We will all love to have you. I insist you stay for supper. How else would you meet the rest of the Greene family? I will see you both at six-thirty."

She exchanged a look with Rick as Hershel ambled toward the house. "He seems nice. I like him."

"Me too," he sighed. "The Greene's are great people. I'm glad I met them."

"Oh Rick?" Hershel called from a few yards away.

"Did you hear anything back about that Negan boy?"

Rick rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head slowly. "No. Nothing yet," he yelled back.

"Keep me updated." Hershel waved, and continued his trek towards the house.

Their exchange and the familiar name left Michonne mildly curious, but not enough to pry. "So, you work with the animals?"

"Yep." He ran his hand down the horse's mane, smiling affectionately. "This here is Buttons. He's undeniably the best horse here. No contest."

"Buttons?" She followed his action. "That's a cute name. I bet it's because he's as cute as a button. Aren't you?"

"Have you ever ridden?" he asked as they started walking away from the main house and toward the stables with the horse in tow.

She nodded, reminiscing about the early years with her mother and James. At the time, her stepfather seemed larger than life and he would spoil her rotten. Whatever Michonne wanted, she got. She remembered when he brought home the puppy she always begged them for as an early ninth birthday present. Her mother had been less than pleased, so naturally the dog had disappeared the next day, most likely returned to wherever he bought it. They never spoke of it again and she knew better than to ask.

"When we lived in South Africa, I had lessons." She chuckled quietly at the memory. "James had gotten me a pony that we kept at a nearby farm. It was my pet away from home."

"I love how casually you say that as if it's not the coolest thing in the world." They entered the stable, passing two stalls with horses inside, before stopping at the third. He opened the stall to let buttons in. "I bet you learned how to ski in the Alps."

Michonne pressed her lips together trying not to give him the indication that he was right on target. She learned to ski at a ski resort in the Swiss Alps. "Maybe."

"Are you serious Tipsy?" He shook his head. "The Swiss Alps."

She threw her hands up defensively. "My dad was the ambassador to Switzerland and I've attended four different boarding schools. A ski trip in the Swiss Alps was a given."

"I can honestly say, I've never had a friend like you. Now I feel like an uncultured hillbilly."

"Oh stop." She cut her eyes to the entrance of the stables. "So, are you going to show me around or not? I'd prefer to have my tour before the rain comes pouring down."

"So demanding," he grumbled jokingly, taking her hand in his and leading her out of the stables. "What can I show you first? I'm not sure what kind of impression I'll make considering you're a world class traveling princess. You've probably seen it all."

"What's over there?" She pointed to a small stone path near the side of the house.

"Are you a mind reader Tipsy?" His blue eyes twinkled with delight and he tugged on her hand. "Come on. I think you're gonna love this."

As they approached the stone pathway, she heard the faint sound of moving water. There must have been a river or a creek nearby. They walked in silence as they basked in the glow of their surroundings. The path led them into the thick trees and they walked in silence as the sound of water grew closer. "Is there a river or something?"

"A creek." As if on cue, the narrow strip of water came into view. It was a beautiful sight. It looked like a painting she once saw. She almost felt as if they were in a mystical world.

"Wow."

"Beautiful huh?"

Michonne didn't immediately give a verbal response. She walked slowly to the rocks that lined the edge of the creek, dropping her bag. She leaned forward, her hands on her knees as she peered into the clear water. She turned back to look at Rick, who was watching her with his hands deep in his pocket. He wore a strange expression. "It is. I like it here." Her lips curved upward.

A droplet of water landed on her forehead as she watched a breathtaking smile spread across his face. The sky let out a loud crack as the droplets fell with more fervor, landing on every part of her body. It was as if buckets of ice water were being dropped from the sky. She hurried to where Rick stood, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the direction they came from. "My hair!"

The icy droplets splattered against their clothing as they ran through the trees. When they reached the stone path, she looked at Rick breathlessly, waiting for him to lead them to an appropriate shelter. "This way," he yelled, pulling her toward the back of the house.

They entered a door that led to a dimly lit room with stone walls. "Whew." Rick held on to his side as he bent forward to catch his breath. "I think I might be really out of shape."

Michonne stood in the center, of what she now realized was a laundry room, dripping water and trembling from the cold. Her bag was soaked and she hoped the contents weren't ruined. In that moment, she somehow felt both miserable and giddy at the same time. She was freezing, but practically vibrating with happiness and the urge to laugh bubbled within her.

"Shit! You must be freezing." Rick pulled a few items of clothing from a nearby basket, throwing them in her direction. "There's a bathroom over there," he said, pointing to the door as he handed her a towel. "I don't want you to get sick because of me."

She stared down at the gray sweatshirt and sweatpants that were now covered with her wet handprints.

"They're mine," he explained. "Go on. We can put your wet stuff to dry when you're done."

Michonne nodded and wordlessly shuffled towards the bathroom, her feet making loud squelching noises as she moved. When she reemerged from the bathroom, he was also out of his wet clothes and wearing a sweatpants and sweatshirt combo like hers. Except, his actually fit him properly. "We match."

He held up two towels. "I don't think the rain is stopping anytime soon and I really don't want to stay in this room until it ends." He gestured to the door. "My place is only a door down. We can wait it out there. I've got television."

They sprinted across the walkway, their laughter filling the air. Rick flung open the door of his small apartment space attached to the back of the Greene's house allowing Michonne to enter first. "Welcome."

She walked inside, taking in her surroundings as she dropped her bag and kicked off her muddy boots to leave them by the door. His place was clean and furnished with an armchair, a bed and a table with two chairs. There was a small kitchen area on the far side of the room where the table was. A long counter separated it from his living/bedroom area. There was one door in the apartment, leading to what she assumed was the bathroom.

"It's not much, but it's actually my first apartment," he chuckled. "And I had to leave the country to finally get it. If only my Dad could see me now. He thinks I'm a fuckup."

She smiled, suddenly feeling shy as she sat down on the edge of his bed wearing her new too large clothes, still attempting to dry and tame her now poofy hair.

"It's too bad the weather here is terrible," Rick laughed, running his hand through his own damp hair. She gazed at him, longing to run her own fingers through his dark curls. "I guess that's just England. Gray skies are normal and we're lucky if we get some sun."

"How much longer?"

He didn't need her to elaborate. "Maybe another month, could be less. This is a temporary thing. I'll move on to something else. A new adventure and a change of scenery."

"Off to find yourself." She nodded, trying to hide her disappointment with a smile. She should have been used to it by now. Lasting friendships wasn't something she had the luxury of having. He moved across the room, slowly sitting down beside her.

"Sounds really cliché huh?"

She snickered. "A little." She patted her hair with the towel a few more times before giving up, knowing it was a lost cause. She should have listened to her mother and gotten braids instead of going through the lengthy process of pressing her hair. "Of all days for the rain to pour down on me, today just had to be the one. Forget Brown, I want to go somewhere sunny after this." She pouted. "And I didn't even get to see the alpacas."

Rick smiled, glancing down at her lips before quickly meeting her eyes again. He had been doing that a lot lately and Michonne knew exactly what that meant. She often wished he would hurry up and make the first move.

She was pleasantly surprised when his hand lightly caressed her cheek before slowly moving to lift her chin as he brought his lips to hers. His kiss was long and lingering. Her heart clamored in her chest as her stomach fluttered with happiness and want. She let her pillowy lips open and his tongue slipped into her mouth. She slowly brought her hand up, running her fingers through his dark tresses as the kiss deepened.

Her heart was beating like a drum.

She fell back against the bed, as he shifted so that his body was over hers. He groaned as their lips parted, peppering kisses along her jaw and down her neck as his hand tightly gripped her waist. Another snaked slowly under her large sweatshirt, resting at the base of her ran his tongue against her neck and a nervous excitement tittered within her. She had never had a kiss quite like that one before.

At that moment, it felt as if it was just the two of them in the world.

All too soon he pulled his hand away, holding himself up to meet her gaze, a small smile played at his lips and his eyes were fiery blue. "That was _some_ friendship kiss." He rolled over so they were lying side by side on their backs. He took her hand in his, quietly playing with her fingers.

"I'm starting to think you brought me here to seduce me," she teased, lightly pinching the back of his hand.

"I'm pretty sure it's the other way around."

"My birthday is coming up soon," she said quietly, playing with the edge of the sweatshirt. "It'd be great if you stuck around a little while longer. There's going to be a huge party at Winfield House." She regretted her words as soon as they left her mouth. Not because she didn't genuinely want him there, but because she would need a solid explanation for his presence.

Did he even own an appropriate suit for a formal affair?

"Well, you're sticking around for dinner with the Greene's, so I guess it's the _least_ I can do. I don't really have any concrete plans at the moment." He tilted his head towards her. "I'm not sure how well I'll fit at that party though. Something tells me it won't be like the one we met at."

"Not exactly."

"Want anything to drink?" He hopped up from the bed, shuffling towards the small kitchen. "I've got soda and tap water. And no, there is no alcohol here Tipsy."

"Soda!" Michonne laughed loudly, throwing up her arms in the air. She rolled onto her stomach propping her chin up on her elbow as she watched him maneuver around the room. A small smile spread across her face and she felt a twinge of sadness. "I don't want you to leave yet," she whispered quietly to herself as she watched the person who was quickly becoming one of her closest friends.

Something on his bedside table caught her eye as she watched him. She stared at the familiar rectangular gemstone encrusted box, racking her brain as she tried to place its origin. The second time she met Rick Grimes, they came into contact with two objects in an antique store that were both currently in his possession.

A camera and a music box.

Why on earth would he have bought those things?

 **Present**

Michonne smiled when she heard the echoes of familiar voices as she descended the stairs from her bedroom. She was on her way to check on the kids, but now it appeared they had company. She smiled down at Judith, who was hoisted on her hip. "Guess who's here Judy," she said in a quiet sing-song voice.

"You've gotten so big! The last time I saw you, you were barely up to here," she heard the female voice gush. "And where are those parents of yours?"

"Mom and Judith are upstairs with Grandma," Carl answered. "Dad went out with…grandpa?" There was uncertainty in his voice when he referred to James as his grandfather. As much as it pained her to admit, Michonne knew it wasn't lost on her kids that there is still quite a bit of tension in her family.

She rounded the corner to come face to face with her cousin Sasha, who was now sporting pink hair, and her husband Abraham, along with their two children and a surprisingly mild-mannered Carl. When the two women locked eyes, they practically pounced toward each other, enveloping themselves in a hug.

"I'm so sorry this is happening," Sasha said lowly, so that only she could hear. Michonne nodded, fighting back the tears that were threatening to spill.

Judith was once again caught in the middle of a hug and she was none too happy. She squirmed in her mother's arms, shaking her plump little hands and mouthing no. Sasha's dark brown eyes lit up as the little girl caught her attention. "She's so cute! Is this the youngest?"

"Yeah this is Judith."

"Hi cutie pie." Sasha reached out, lightly tickling Judith's plump cheek. "You're your daddy's clone. She looks so much like Rick."

"What about my hug? Don't take all the love Sash." The tall, brawny red-haired man maneuvered himself around his wife, wrapping a large arm around Michonne, practically lifting her from the ground. "Long time no see Michie."

"Too long. This isn't how I expected us to meet up again," Michonne said as he pulled away. "Some reunion huh? In any case, I'm glad you guys came."

Abraham shook his head sadly as she hugged their two daughters, Sara and Mira. They were much taller than when she last saw them five years before. Sara was still a baby at the time and Mira was five. "Why don't you two go say hi to André and Colette," she suggested to the children. "Carl, show them around please. We'll be in soon."

"Where's Rick?" Sasha asked, looking around as if she expected him to materialize before her eyes.

Judith rested her little head on her mother's shoulder, content now that the strangers were no longer touching them. "He's out running an errand with James. They should be back soon."

"Speak of the devil." Abraham nodded to the front door which was still wide open from their arrival.

"Ya'll are early," Rick called as he jogged up the walkway towards them, James trailing slowly behind. His eyes widened slightly as he took in Sasha's appearance and Michonne knew he was thinking the same thing she was.

"No, we're not." Sasha tilted her head at Rick. "What time did I tell you?"

"You said the afternoon. I was thinking you'd be here around three or so."

"I said _around_ noon," she corrected. "We're actually right on time."

Rick stepped around Abraham, giving him a tap on the back as he moved to stand next to his wife. "Hello again, beautiful." He placed a quick kiss on her lips. "I missed you."

"You guys are sickening," Sasha laughed. "We get it, you love each other. No wonder Michonne is holding a new baby every time I see her."

"You haven't seen me in five years," she said defensively.

"True. And let's not make it another five before we meet up again." Sasha crossed her arms, quirking a challenging brow. "I know you two were busy traveling the world with your brood of kids, but I'd like to see my cousin and godchildren every once in a while." She looked at Rick this time. "Okay? You've gotta learn to share the love."

His hand tightened playfully around his wife's waist. "I'll try my best."

"I'm sorry, but I've got to ask," Michonne said, holding up a hand as a smile played on her lips. The highlighter pink color was too outstanding to not address. "What's with the hair?"

"Oh, this beautiful style? It's not a cute as your dreads, but it's for charity." She ran her palm against her formerly dark coily hair. "Cancer research." The room became solemn at the mention of the dreaded two-syllable word that now haunted their family.

"Hi there."

Sasha turned to the source of the voice as the man it belonged to finally entered the house. "Hi uncle James! Long time no see."

James smiled politely at the new guests. "How are you Sasha? You look well."

"I'm doing fine. We're all pretty good." She refrained from commenting on James' physical appearance. The man was much thinner and looked like he was carrying the world on his shoulders. She certainly couldn't tell him he looked well too. "How is she?"

She finally asked the question that had been lingering in the air since they arrived. _How was she?_ What was there to say to a question like that? Her mother's physical profile was so dissimilar to the strength in her voice. She would understand just how Winnie was only when she saw her. The sight wouldn't be as hopeful as the sound.

"She's," Michonne felt as if her words were caught in her throat. It hurt to draw the apparent conclusions. "She's not doing well at all Sash. She's fighting though." The tears started spilling from her eyes and she could only manage to shake her head. "My mother is a fighter and she always will be. I always admired that about her."

Sasha started crying right along with her. She took one of Michonne's hands in hers. "Can we…can we see her? Is she able to..?"

"Later." Michonne wiped her eyes with the back of her hand as Rick rubbed her back comfortingly. "She's resting now. We'll take the kids up later. She'll be happy to see you. She enjoys the company."

"Come on," Rick said, gesturing for them to follow. He kept his arm around his wife's waist as they led the couple further into the house. "We have some catching up to do in the meantime. You guys hungry? It must have been a long trip."

They spent some time gushing over each other's kids before settling on the back Patio with lunch while the kids had a small picnic on the back lawn with James. Michonne watched as Colette stood up, running in circles around those seated on the blanket in the grass, her dark corkscrew tendrils wafting in the light breeze. The air was filled with her laughter. The children were all smiling and talking animatedly without a care in the world.

The chatter around Michonne morphed into garbled background noise, but she still nodded her head politely every now and then as Sasha and Abraham talked. She let Rick do most of the talking. Lately, she hadn't been in much of a mood for conversing. She felt Rick give her hand a comforting squeeze under the table.

She reached out for her glass of lemonade, taking a sip and she could feel Rick's eyes on her. He knew his wife well. "Eat something," he whispered. Her plate was virtually untouched. She slowly nodded, her eyes still on the children and her mind elsewhere.

She felt a certain emptiness inside along with the fear of what was undoubtedly going to happen. She wouldn't have been in England otherwise. She remembered another time in her life when she felt the way she did now. She was experiencing a great deal of grief at the time. The circumstances were different, but she went through the stages nonetheless.

When she returned home after her disappearance, things at home were tense and uncertain. She was in a depressed state and her mother was less than equipped to deal with her daughter's grief when she was still in another phase of her own grief. She ground her teeth together fighting the urge to cry out in pain. Thinking back, she wouldn't change a thing that happened, but she regretted all the words that were left unsaid.

She thought about all the times throughout the years when she fought the to pick up the phone. She didn't want to be the first one to give in and her stubbornness and resentment won. Now she was losing so much at the cost of pride and it all began with the events leading up to her disappearance and worsened upon her return.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! We got to see more of young Michonne and Rick and a little of the family Rick is living with. Sasha is here too! I'm halfway finished with the next chapter and I finally have some free time so there is much more to come.**

 **Review and let me know what you think.**


	8. Chapter Eight: Chertsey

**Chapter Eight: Chertsey**

 _The best sister in the world_

* * *

 **Present**

Michonne woke with a start, breathing heavily as her eyes adjusted to the brightly lit bedroom. She was plagued by a recurring nightmare for the past month. She sat up slowly, placing her head between her knees as she tried to fight back the nausea that was becoming a normal occurrence. She closed her eyes, inhaling slowly through her nose, before letting out her breath.

"Hi Mommy."

"Shit!" Her hand flew to her chest as she finally noticed Colette, who stood a few feet from the bed staring intently at her with wide brown eyes.

"You're not supposed to swear Mommy."

"I know Colette," she said with a sigh, moving back to rest against the headboard, mindful of not making too many sudden movements. Her heart was still hammering in her chest from the scare Colette gave her. The little girl was as silent as a mouse sometimes. "Sorry." She scooted over, motioning for her daughter to come closer. "What's up sweetie?"

Colette skipped towards the bed, hopping up and quickly snuggling next to her mother. "How come you were still sleeping Mommy?"

"I guess I'm just tired baby."

"Oh," she wriggled her nose. "You stayed up past your bedtime?"

Michonne chuckled, smoothing down the little girl's corkscrew curls. "Yeah. Aunty Sasha and I stayed up to chat. I'll go to bed earlier tonight." Colette smiled up at her mother and Michonne wondered where everyone else was. It was clear that Colette was seeking comfort and she wondered if something happened or if she had a disagreement with her siblings. "Where's daddy and your brother's?"

"Carl's in big trouble," she informed her mother enthusiastically as she reached out to play with one of her dreads. "He stole Daddy's phone last night to call Enid. Daddy's really mad."

Michonne let out a heavy sigh, feeling a headache coming on. "I'm sure he is. You had breakfast already?"

Colette nodded her head. "Yeah, like um…" she held up her fingers attempting to quantify the amount of time had passed since she ate. "A long time ago. We had pancakes. I wanted to wait for you, but Daddy said you were tired and we shouldn't wake you up."

Michonne smiled. Rick had warned the children not to disturb her, and yet here was Colette, silently watching over her mother while she slept. Curiosity must have gotten the best of her since, Michonne was usually an early bird and rarely slept in very late.

Michonne and Colette laid silently on their sides facing each other, Colette playing with strands of her Michonne's locks while she hummed softly. After some time, Michonne glanced at the clock, taking note that it was almost noon, they had guests and her mother was probably having a nap. "Alright sweetie." Michonne gave her daughter a light nudge, as she gingerly sat up. "It's time for me to get up."

"Okay Mommy."

She kissed her forehead. "I love you so much Munchkin."

"Love you too Mommy," Colette said with an angelic smile. Colette remained in the bed, quietly hummed to herself as Michonne went into the bathroom to get ready for her day. When Michonne reemerged, she grabbed the blue journal from the top drawer of her bedside table, tucking it under her arm.

"Is that a story book Mommy?" Colette sat up, examining the hardcover book with curiosity.

"Something like that. It has stories in it," she answered.

She tilted her head to the side. "What kind?"

"True stories about people I know and used to know."

"Okay," Colette said, already losing interest, since there was no mention of dragons or mythical creatures. She hopped out of the bed, taking her mother's hand. "I have to go find Sara in the closet downstairs. We were playing hide and seek and she probably thinks she's winning."

Michonne looked at her daughter with a mixture of bewilderment and amusement. The things that came out of the little girl's mouth never ceased to amaze her. As they descended the stairs hand in hand, Rick appeared at the base smiling up at them.

Colette cheerily greeted her father. "Hi Daddy! Mommy's up now."

"There's my princess. We were looking all over for you." Rick scooped Colette up in his arms. "Did you wake Mommy? I told you she was tired."

"I didn't wake her up." She rapidly shook her head, her brown eyes wide and earnest. "I was only watching her sleep. Then she woke up and held her chest like this." Colette tried to mimic, Michonne's petrified facial expression. "Because I scared her by accident."

Rick chuckled meeting Michonne's eyes over the little girl's head, walking slowly towards her to pull her into his embrace. "Morning Tipsy."

She slipped the blue book behind her back, leaning into his arms. "So, we're really back to that name, huh?"

"I guess England just brings it out in me." He gave her a quick peck on the lips. "Get something to eat. Morgan will fix you a plate and I'll handle this little one. Poor Sara thought you forgot which one of you was supposed to be seeking."

Colette erupted into a fit of giggles as Rick showered her with tickles and kisses, while he carried her towards the large family room that was occupied by the other adults and children.

Michonne declined Morgan's offering of pancakes, instead opting for buttered toast and a cup of tea. After her late breakfast was prepared, she stood in the center of the kitchen contemplating joining her family in the family room. She heard the faint chatter and occasional laugher of the children and realized that she wasn't particularly in a social mood.

"Are you alright Mrs. Grimes?" Morgan asked, breaking her out of her thoughts.

"Yeah. I'm fine." She took a step back and shuffled to the patio door. with her plate in hand. Once she was seated at the empty table, she opened the blue journal and flipped it open to a random page.

A nostalgic smile spread across her face and stroked the page, feeling the deep indents her pen made on the paper as she read the words. Teenaged Michonne seemed so much more melodramatic to her more mature eyes. Teenagers had a tendency of being that way. She was so caught up in her words, she didn't hear when Carl slipped open the back door and slowly approached her.

"Mom?"

She jumped slightly at the sound of his voice. "Shit!" She took a calming breath. "You all really need to stop sneaking up on me like that. Damn near startled me into a heart attack."

"Language," he said sassily as he pulled out a chair across from her, slumping down in the seat and crossing his arms.

She smiled, happy for his company, but was now curious about his shame-faced countenance. "You don't want to play with your cousins?"

Carl scowled. "Seriously Mom? Play? I'm fifteen."

"Well, what else is there to do?" She asked, turning her attention back to the journal. "You'll be in college before you're off punishment. Seriously Carl? Did you really get nothing out of what I said to you yesterday?"

"Colette!" he spat, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

"Don't bring her into this," she lightly smacked his arm with the back of her hand. " _You_ should have known better. You do know better."

"Mom, I don't know if you've realized this yet, but Colette is pure evil. I have a literal demon as a little sister." He grabbed both of her hands in his, as if he was about to tell her a difficult truth. "It's too late for Dad. She already has him in her evil clutches, but there's still some hope for you. You need to wake up and smell the apple juice."

"Let me guess, she's the one who told Rick you had the phone?"

Her threw up his hands in dramatic frustration. "I don't know how she does it." He looked behind him as if he expected the little girl to appear. "The kid's an evil genius and she has eyes everywhere. It's like she's everywhere at once. It's scary, Mom. André knew what he was talking about when he asked for her to be sent back to where you got her from, now it's too late. We're stuck with her forever."

"Very funny Carl."

He stared down at his hands again, his gaze bouncing from place to place, a clear indication that there was something he wanted to say. Whatever that something was, she knew he wouldn't speak of it until he was ready.

"Hey Mom?"

"Hmm?" She absently flipped through the journal, searching for a specific entry.

He wore a pensive expression. "I heard aunt Sasha talking to grandpa James. Grandma's not going to make it, is she?"

She looked up at her eldest son with the surprise at his blunt words etched on her face. She knew something was bothering him, but she assumed it had to do with whatever was going on back at home in Atlanta. Carl had a difficult time transitioning from their life as a travelling family, to remaining stagnant in a small town and attending a single public school instead of learning on the road or attending various foreign schools in the countries they visited. They had been constantly on the go for the past six to seven years.

On the other hand, Colette had an easier time adjusting than anyone else in the family. The little girl was a social butterfly. She immediately fell in love with her new school and easily made new friends. Although, it may have been due to the excitement of it being her first time attending school.

Altogether, Carl felt confined in Atlanta and he was having a hard time adjusting, and if she was completely honest, so was she.

"I don't know," she answered after some time, even though it was a thought she often had. "We don't know that. We just have to hope for the best."

He stared out at the open yard, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Why does she hate dad so much? Is that why we…"

"She doesn't hate your father."

He gave her a look, clearly letting her know that he didn't believe her. Carl was a smart kid and he could certainly read a room. She sighed, thinking of a way to simplify the past fifteen years to her fifteen-year-old son. She wasn't even entirely sure how things ended up this way.

"It's…complicated."

"Too _complicated_ for me to understand?" He seemed personally offended by the word.

She opened her mouth to respond, struggling to find the right words. How could she explain years of stubbornness, missed opportunities and resentment with a single answer?

"You can just tell me if she hates him. I know how some of Dad's family feel about you," he said. "Is it because she's dying? Does she hate me too? Since I'm not really –"

"That's different Carl. Grandma loves you and your siblings," she assured him with a weak smile. She didn't want him to have a negative view of his grandmother. "I don't think she hates anybody. It truly is complicated and it's not something that can be describes in terms of liking and disliking a person."

"You know, growing up I always thought your Mom was probably like my…like Lori. I knew she existed, but you never talked about her, so I assumed she left you like… _she_ left me."

"I did some things that really disappointed my mother, Carl. What happened to us was just what happens when people don't talk about what they feel."

He sighed, his face softening. He seemed deep in thought as his eyes darted around the yard, most likely thinking of a way to change the subject. "Dad said you met here fifteen years ago. That's around the time when I was born. How did that happen?"

"You want me to tell you about how I met your father?" Michonne smiled. "You must really be bored without that phone. This is one of the longest conversations we've had in weeks. Maybe we should never let you have it back."

"That's not true. We had a super long conversation after I beat up Ron. So…" He grinned, resting his chin on the back of his hand. "What happened? I'm listening."

Michonne looked down at the open journal in front of her, a familiar five-letter name painfully jumping out at her. Her throat tightened at the memory of him. "Well, I met him outside a house party in London and somehow we became great friends after that. He was my best friend and he still is."

"But Grandma Winnie didn't want you to be friends?"

Michonne sighed. Her son never did drop subjects easily. "Yes, but it's more complicated than that. A lot of things were going on with all of us. It was just bad timing."

Carl motioned with his hand for her to continue. "Things like…"

"You've heard about my brother Amare."

"Oh yeah. André's doppelgänger. You guys never really talk about him. "What does that have to do with you and Dad? Did he know your brother?"

Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to fall. She laughed humorlessly. "Being back here sure brings back a lot of memories." She pressed her fingers against her lips, thinking back on the day Rick met Amare. "Your father was such a troublemaker. But, at the same time he was very sweet. He was caring and he loved fiercely."

"Look at you getting all sappy," Carl teased, exaggeratedly jutting out his bottom lip at batting his eyes at her.

"Quiet," she laughed. "You want to hear about it or not?"

* * *

 **Fifteen Years Earlier: Before the Disappearance**

"You can just let us out here Simon," Michonne said, meeting the man's eyes through the rearview mirror. "You'll probably get caught in some awful traffic if you go any further than this."

"Are you sure? I certainly don't mind a little traffic."

"It's fine," Michonne turned to her brother, smiling down at him. "Amare and I can take it from here. Thank you, Simon."

"What time should I return to collect you?"

"How does four sound?"

"It's all up to you Miss Westbrook," he smiled, his mustache spreading as his eyes remained firmly on hers. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. "I am at your service. I will be here whenever you need me."

"Yeah, thanks Simon." She popped open her door, not bothering to wait for him to exit the car and let them out. "Come on Amare. We've got a whole afternoon of fun ahead of us."

Amare hopped out of the black town car, turned and waved to Simon with a large smile. "See you later Simon!"

Michonne and Amare had made somewhat a tradition of their monthly Saturday sibling bonding time. On that particular Saturday, she selected an amusement park for their day together.

As they walked hand in hand to the entrance of the park, Amare looked around eagerly, practically bouncing with excitement. Michonne quickly found the ticket both, paying for their tickets before turning to Amare. "What do you want to ride first?"

"I don't know," Amare giggled looking around the park with wonderment in his eyes as they maneuvered through the crowds. "Something scary."

She smiled at him. "Well, I'm looking forward to the rollercoasters. I think you might finally be _just_ tall enough to ride it now."

She looked between the passing crowd, inconspicuously trying to spot a familiar head of dark hair. As they passed a food stand, she bumped shoulders with a passerby. "Oh, sorry," she quickly apologized, as she turned to find Rick staring back at her.

"It's fine, I wasn't watching where I was going," he said with a chuckle. "What a surprise to see you here."

She smirked, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at how obvious he was being. "Such a surprise."

Amare's eyes shifted between the teenagers completely unaware of their overacting and faux surprise at bumping into each other at the amusement park. "Amare this is my friend Rick. Rick, this is my little brother Amare."

"Hi Rick." Amare brightly smiled up at him as he shifted from leg to leg, unable to contain his excitement. "Do you know what rides you're going on? We're are going on the rollercoaster, the Ferris wheel and…a lot of other stuff. You can come with us if you want. Can he Michie?"

She pursed lips, staring into Rick's mirth filled eyes. "I guess he can join us. He _is_ here all alone. You _are_ alone, right?"

"Okay," Amare said cheerily. "Let's get in the line. It's going to get really long." He tugged on Michonne's hand urging her to walk toward his first brightly lit selected ride. It seemed he rollercoaster would be the first selection of the day.

Rick fell into step beside Michonne and once they were in line, he inconspicuously wrapped an arm around Michonne sliding his hand under the back of her shirt to rest on her lower back. Her stomach fluttered at his closeness and she wanted nothing more than to kiss him. By the way, his eyes lingered on her lips, she was sure he felt the same.

"So…" Rick gazed down at her, pulling her even closer against his side once they were in line. "What's after this? Another rollercoaster? Food?"

"You always have your stomach on your mind." She poked his side. "I didn't think you'd come?"

"Why?" He took her hand in his, clasping their fingers together as a silly grin spread across his face. "You invited me and I don't think I've ever stood you up."

"Well, it's a step away from what we usually do."

"Why are you holding hands?" Amare's eyes were on their joined hands, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Is he your boyfriend?"

Michonne eyes snapped to her little brother and she made a mild attempt to pull her hand away, but Rick did not let go. Instead, he grinned widely at Amare, leaning slightly forward to meet the boy's eyes. "It's 'cause, we're best friends."

"Oh. That makes sense." He smiled back at Rick. "I have a best friend too. It's the best."

Amare was quickly enamored by Rick, and they were practically best friends themselves after their second ride. Amare was thrilled with the Rollercoaster ride and somehow managed to get Rick to ride it with him three times in a row.

Michonne, on the other hand, had her fill of rollercoasters. "Why don't you two go ahead. I'll wait here for you."

"Come on," Amare half-whined, tugging at her shirt. "It's so much fun. You don't want to go again?"

"No. Not really," she said dryly. "There's a lot of rides her other than that rickety old rollercoaster." She pointed at the rides adjacent to where they were standing. "There's a Merry-go-round and a Ferris wheel."

"Bo-ring," Rick sang, letting out a loud snore. "Merry-go-round's are for little kids and we're not little. Ae we Amare?"

"Yeah," he agreed, before turning to Rick with a contemplative look. "Well maybe just the Merry-go-round can be for little kids. I think I'd like to go on the Ferris wheel later."

Rick threw his head back letting out a loud guffaw. "I like the way you think," he said, exchanging an amused look with Michonne. "This one isn't as cool as the London Eye, but we can definitely change the rules around a little bit. Come on, we'll just go and have fun without Miss Buzzkill over here."

"Hey!" Michonne protested, crossing her arms over her chest. "No making fun of me."

"No lies were told," he said, putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender as they backed away from Michonne. "You just don't know how to have fun. That ride is everything."

After another round on the rollercoaster, Michonne managed to drag Rick and Amare to a concession stand where they snacked on fish and chips and Cornish pasties. Immediately after they finished eating, Amare was dragging an ever-amused Rick back to the rollercoaster for their final ride before the Ferris wheel.

Unfortunately, that ride ended with Amare releasing the contents of his stomach on Rick's shoes, two both their horror. To her surprise, Rick took it in stride, assuring a tearful Amare that he wasn't mad at him for ruining his shoes.

"I told the two of you not to go back on that ride," Michonne said, conveying her thanks to Rick with her eyes. Despite his mischievousness, he really was a wonderful person.

"Yeah," he said, beaming at her as he started shuffling towards the restrooms. "I should listen to you more often Tipsy."

* * *

Sometime later in that week, Amare casually mentioned Michonne's best friend from school to their mother during her visit to his boarding school. The woman feigned some interest in their amusement park adventure, smiling and nodding every once in a while her son cheerily recounted the events.

She tapped her feet against the tiled floor, glancing at the clock every so often as she waited for James to arrive for their meeting with Amare's headmaster. She picked up a magazine, humming in affirmation as her son continued his chatter. It wasn't until he referred to the 'friend' as a he, that her full attention was captured.

"What's his name?" she asked in a softened tone, fiddling with her necklace as she glanced up from her magazine.

"Um…" Amare tilted his head to the side, trying to remember the name of his new best friend. "I can't remember. I think it starts with an R or a P or something." He shrugged, giving up on trying to remember. "He goes to Michie's school and he has curly hair. I liked him. He was nice to me."

This gave Winnie even more pause since Marymount was an all girl's school. "Interesting," she said, pursing her lips in thought. She figured it was probably Michael. She smiled to herself, thinking of what a wonderful couple they would make in the future when Michael eventually follows in his father's footsteps and inherits his empire. Her posture straightened and her eyes gleamed at the thought, a satisfied smile spreading across her face as she reopened the magazine and once again muted out Amare's high-pitched voice.

She made a mental note to mention her conversation with Amare to Michonne, but it eventually slipped her mind and the opportunity never presented itself in the weeks leading up to her disappearance.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think of the chapter.**


	9. Chapter Nine: Regents Park

A/N: I sat with this chapter for a long time and even reconsidered some things. In the end, I decided to continue as originally planned. So, here it is.

 **Chapter Nine: Regent's Park**

 _Mama warned me about boys like you_

* * *

 **Present**

"There you two are." Sasha stepped out of the house, moving towards where Carl and Michonne was seated. "Mother and son bonding time?"

Carl wore a pinched expression, slightly annoyed that his mother's story was interrupted. He still hadn't gotten anything concrete out of her carnival tale other than the fact that his Dad's shoes had apparently always been a magnet for vomit. "Yep," he answered shortly, slouching back in his chair. It sounded like he mumbled "it was", but Michonne wasn't sure she heard him right.

"Hey Sash," Michonne smiled, closing her journal.

"You sure slept in late Missy," she said, pulling out a chair to sit down. Her eyes darted to Michonne's simple breakfast, but she did not comment.

Michonne crossed her arms over her chest. "Well we stayed up so late chatting and catching up." She shrugged. "I was so tired, by the time I got to bed. Plus, I have four kids and I haven't really been sleeping all that well lately considering everything that's going on."

Sasha gave her a sympathetic smile, glancing at Carl whose eyes were bouncing between her and his mother. "Well, Uncle James just went upstairs," she finally said, sharing the information she came to deliver. "Aunty Winnie's up. I'm sure you'd probably like to be with her for a while. He said she'd want to see you."

"Of course." Michonne stood up with her barely touched breakfast, amused at her inquisitive son's thinly veiled annoyance at the interruption. "Let me check on Judy first. She's probably really fussy by now."

"She's fine. Her daddy has her under control. Now, that _Colette_ is something else," Sasha laughed. "She's so stinking smart and she has everybody in there wrapped around her finger."

Carl looked at Michonne pointedly. "Like I said, evil genius."

"Hey Mom!" André called looking up from his game with his cousin when his mother entered the main living area flanked by Carl.

Rick stood in the center of the room, rocking an irritated Judith in his arms.

"Want me to take her?" She asked, her hands already outstretched for her youngest daughter.

"I got her." He tilted his head toward the stairs. "Go be with your mama. Come get me when you're done. I stopped by the pharmacy this morning."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes, dreading what he so desperately wanted to confirm or deny. With everything happening with her mother and the fact that Judith was still so young, part of her was praying that her recent symptoms were a result of stress and not another kicking bundle of joy occupying her uterus. Either way, she wasn't in a rush to find out.

"Let's go say hi to grandma." She said to Carl, not responding to Rick's request one way or another. The pair passed James, on his way downstairs as they ascended the stairs.

When her daughter and step-grandson entered her bedroom, Winnie plastered on a smile. "Good morning, Chou-Chou." Her eyes darted to Carl. "I see you have my eldest grandchild with you."

"Good afternoon, Mom," Michonne answered. "It's actually after one already."

Her mother smiled weakly. "It's so easy to lose track of time these days. Days just bleed into nights. It's like an endless loop."

"Hi…Grandma." Carl wrung his hands together as he awkwardly rocked in place.

"Hello sweetheart." She smiled politely, turning her attention back to her daughter who had settled on the edge of her bed. It was reminiscent of her childhood when she would seek out her parents for comfort. "I feel like it's been ages since I last saw you Chou-Chou and it's only been a little over twelve hours."

Michonne took Winnie's frail hand in hers.

"You know, I think you get more beautiful every time I see you," she said wistfully. "You've truly grown into a wonderful woman. You're starting to remind me of my old self. Beautiful and fresh-faced like your Mama used to be."

Michonne smiled at the compliment. When she was younger, she saw very few physical similarities between her and Winnie, but as she grew older and spent years estranged from the woman, she began to see the clear similarities. She saw Winnie every time she looked in the mirror. She saw her in Andre and in Colette's mannerisms.

She lived in them all.

She fought back tears as she glanced up to where Carl still stood in the center of the room. She waved him over to join them. "Don't just stand over there. Come sit with us."

"He's a spitting image of his father." Winnie's muted brown eyes followed Carl. He sat in the armchair next to the bed, his posture stiff as he smiled timidly at the frail woman. "Which is…a good thing, I suppose."

"Carl and I were talking about my childhood, growing up traveling and…living here in London. Being here brings back a lot of memories."

"Oh yes," she smiled, a twinkle in her eye. "Your mother lived all over the world you know. She had a life most people only dream of. I'm sure she's told you all of the stories."

"We lived in an RV once," Carl shared, not knowing what else to say to the grandmother he barely knew. He decided to share their own travels as a family. "Me, Mom, Dad, and André. Colette wasn't born yet."

"We were on a cross-country assignment for work," Michonne explained when she saw the look of slight alarm on her mother's face. "We spent a year going across the states visiting national parks in an RV with two young kids. I think Carl was eight? Seven?" Michonne laughed at the memory. "Not the greatest idea, but it was fun. Rick remodeled the RV with a few of his friends and it was our comfortable tiny home for a year."

She smiled at the memory of one particular December week in the RV when all three of her boys were sick with the flu. At the end of that week she all but wanted to murder Rick, who was the biggest baby of the three. He could get very irritating when he's sick. Luckily, he doesn't get sick often.

Winnie stared at the ceiling, her expression remained impassive until a sad smile slowly spread across her face. "Did you tell him about when you were missing too? It's quite the story. Something out of the movies."

"You were missing?" He looked at his mother in surprise. "I didn't know that. Mom was actually just telling me about when she and Dad took Amare to an amusement park."

Michonne didn't miss the way her mother stiffened before attempting to muster a weak smile. "He was my baby boy. Your brother André reminds me so much of him." Her eyes moved to Michonne. "Isn't that right, baby? He's so much like him. It's almost scary."

"He does."

"How did he…what happened to him?"

Winnie's eyes filled with unshed tears and Carl immediately regretted his question. "We don't really know," she rasped. "I don't think we ever will."

* * *

 **Fifteen Years Earlier: Before the Disappearance**

"How can you tell if someone is a sociopath?"

Michonne closed her book, rolling onto her stomach to regard Rick. "What? You think you know one? I hope it's not me."

He stood up from his place on the couch in front of the small TV, slowly approaching the bed. "Abnormal psychology." He read the title of her textbook with a smile, resting his knee on the bed, as he crawled beside her. "I'd like to know what you know."

"Do you?" she asked, as he pulled her closer. She would be taking a brief respite from studying. They somehow always ended up entangled in each other's arms whenever she visited.

"You gotta share the knowledge Tipsy. The classes at my regular ol' high school in King County, Georgia is no match for your fancy prep school."

"Maybe later." She folded an arm around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. He shifted his body so that he hovered above her and deepened the kiss. His hand slipped under her sweatshirt as it usually did when they ended up in this position.

"Not even five minutes ago you claimed I was distractin' you from your studies? What happened to all that?"

"I like this kind of distraction now. Plus, breaks are healthy."

"Do you?" His hand traveled down to the top of her jeans and he popped the button open. His lips connected with hers again in a deep sensual kiss.

She ran her fingers through the soft curls at the nape of his neck as his weight came down on top of her and he grabbed her bare thigh wrapping one of her legs around his waist. She could feel him, pressing against her through the fabric of his jeans.

His nimble fingers played at the edge of her sweatshirt as he began to slowly lift the material, exposing her flat stomach as it moved upward. "This okay?" he whispered, as his lips trailed down her collarbone sending shivers up her spine.

She nodded, but "Mmhm" was all she managed as a verbal response as she lifted her arms to let him drag the sweater over her head. His lips moved down her body, sucking and kissing and evoking moans from her soft lips.

As his lips moved even lower, crossing her flat stomach, she felt chills of pleasure and her heart started hammering in her chest in anticipation and nerves. It was so loud she was almost convinced he could hear it too. He made her nervous in a good and thrilling way.

His fingers hooked through the belt loops on her jeans as his tongue swirled around her stomach and she brought her fingers to his hair, not wanting him to stop. Instead of sliding off her pants and she expected, he sat back onto his knees, pulling his own shirt off.

A knock on the door interrupted them and he groaned, shutting his eyes tightly and resting his forehead against hers. "Yeah?" He called out to the knocker. "What is it?"

Hershel's muffled voice came from the other side of the door. "You have got somebody here to see you and I'm a lenient gaffer, but those chores won't do themselves so chivvy along and get out here before it's late. I know the girl is there, but you can't skive off work today. She can always help and you can bond that way."

"Alright, alright. I'll be out soon." He rolled over to lie on his back next to Michonne who was now giggling at his frustration as she tried to catch her breath.

"You laughin'?" he asked, playfully ticking her side.

"That was fun while it lasted," she said, feeling around for her sweatshirt.

"Too bad we were rudely interrupted." He reached for his shirt, pulling it over his head. "I was startin' to have fun."

She sat up from the bed, still laughing at his exaggerated annoyance. She could still feel where his hands were on her. "I distinctly remember suggesting that you do what you had to do when I first got here, but you said, 'I've got a lotta of time.'" She did a poor imitation of his drawl.

"Sure." He lightly smacked her thigh, pulling her leg toward him as he knelt on the bed over her. "You're comin' with me though."

She lightly traced the tips of her fingers along his cheekbone. "Sorry."

"It's fine. I wasn't expecting anything."

"Who is this visitor that Hershel said you have?" she asked as she fixed her bra, reaching for her sweatshirt.

He paused suddenly as if coming to a realization about something. "Oh. Uh…I don't know. Listen, while I go do my stuff you can actually wait here. I know you have to study. I'll be quick."

"You don't want me to see who it is? Why do I have to stay inside all of a sudden?" she asked as she pulled her sweater over her head. "Got a secret English girlfriend I don't know about?"

"None, but you. Just like there better be no one but me." He took her face in his hand, staring down at her as if searching for something in her eyes. "Come on. Hurry up."

Once they were both fully redressed, they made their way out of his small living quarters and toward the large field across from the main house. As they walked they spotted Hershel talking to a tall, muscular, dark-haired man in a leather jacket who looked to be in his late twenties.

"Ricky mate," the dark-haired man called when he spotted them. He lifted his hand in a slow wave at the pair while Hershel stood by with a look of disapproval. For a fleeting moment Michonne wondered if the look was meant for them and their relationship, but once they neared it was clear it had to do with the man in the leather jacket and his association with Rick.

"Negan," Rick said curtly, with a small nod. His expression remained neutral and he looked neither happy nor displeased to see the man.

"Long time no see eh." He rubbed his tongue against his teeth looking Rick over before his eyes settled on Michonne. "Made a new friend?"

"Michonne this is Negan. Michonne is a visiting a friend of the family."

"Anette is baking," Hershel said, looking to Michonne. "You want to come fetch something for you and Rick?"

"Sure," she said, looking between Rick and the older man. Something about Negan made her uneasy, especially with the way Rick was reacting.

"Rick and I will stay here and get some things sorted. Business, you know?"

Hershel was silent, his face in a deep frown as they walked to the house. "You've been around here a lot lately, so I assume the two of you are involved with each other."

She glanced at Rick's temporary father figure noting the uneasiness in his tone. "Something like that."

Hershel felt it his responsibility as a parent to warn the girl. While he was very fond of Rick Grimes of King County, Georgia, he was also a parent and Rick, the way he was now, would make any caring parent hesitant if they knew what he got up to and who he spent time with in his spare time. His good heart wasn't enough to make up for bad company.

"Look, I have two daughters and my Maggie's not that much younger than you," he said, pausing as they reached the door. "Rick is a fine young chap, but he's a little rough around the edges. I know you come from a fine family from what Rick told me, so my advice to you is to be careful. While he has a good heart and good intentions, he's shirty at times and tends to attract trouble. Dodgy fellows and the like."

Michonne nodded, looking down at her feet unsure of how to respond. What exactly was Hershel trying to say? It was as if he was speaking in circles. "Okay."

"Michonne." Anette greeted her with a warm smile as they entered the house through the kitchen door. "Should have figured you were here. I haven't seen Rick since the morning. How are you dear?"

"I'm great."

"Splendid." The woman gestured to the counter where the cakes and biscuits were cooling. "Have some, but don't spoil your appetite. I'm finishing up with lunch. You and Rick can join us."

"Thank you."

"You're quite welcome dear." She returned her attention to her husband. "Is that dreadful boy still out there?"

Hershel nodded, taking a seat at the kitchen table. Michonne glanced toward the door where said dreadful boy was having a discussion with Rick. He must have done _something_ to earn the disdain of the mild-mannered couple.

"He won't be back," Hershel assured her confidently. "I reckon this is the last we'll see of him. I don't want that beastly man on my land."

"Who is he?" Michonne finally asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"The hell if I know," Hershel grumbled. "Like I said earlier about trouble."

"Michonne!" Maggie entered the kitchen with a bright smile. "When did you get here?"

"I just got in, but I've been over by Rick since this morning." She bit into one of Anette's warm pastries. "I actually have something I've been meaning to give you. I'm having a birthday party soon and I have an invitation for you. It's in my bag at Rick's, so I'll get it later."

"Oh, you're having a birthday soon?"

"Yeah, I'm turning eighteen."

"Brilliant!" Maggie squealed. "Thanks for inviting me."

Hershel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "And this party is…"

"It's a dinner party at my house," she added quickly, not wanting the grisly man to think his sixteen-year-old daughter would be at a rowdy house party with irresponsible teenagers. "My Mom is planning it. She loves that sort of thing."

"Do I have to wear an evening dress?"

"Yeah, it's kind of a formal thing, but not too formal. The details are o the invitation."

"We'll find you something to wear." Anette patted her daughter's shoulder with a warm smile.

"And Rick is coming too?"

Her stomach fluttered at the mention of his name. "He is." He finally agreed, even though he keeps insisting that he's terrible with parents and with undoubtedly make a horrible first impression. He jokingly promised that security would have to throw him out.

Rick joined them in the house about a half hour after, boldly greeting Michonne with a quick kiss on her lips. After sitting down for a quick lunch, she followed him out to help (more like look on from her perch on a wooden stool) with his daily farm work.

It was her turn to distract him now.

He took so many breaks to either touch or kiss her that, she decided to put a sanction on their physical contact. No touching until a task is fully complete. After which, he could get all the kisses and groping he wanted.

He worked diligently like a man on a mission.

It was late afternoon when she finally left the Greene farm, declining to stay for dinner since she had already been out so long.

Rick walked her to the bus stop with his arm wrapped around her and his hand slipped under the back of her jacket, resting on her lower back. It felt like her skin was on fire, despite the chilly spring afternoon.

"See you tomorrow?" He spun her to face him, his grip on her tightening as if he didn't want to let go.

She stood on the tips of her toes planting a kiss on his nose, his reaction eliciting giggles from her. "Tomorrow."

"Feels so far away." His palms pressed against her bare lower back. "You sure you have to go."

She nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck. "We wouldn't want the Westbrook's sending out a search party, would we? I don't think they'd like it very much if you kept me here forever. They might notice I'm gone."

"That's too bad. I don't really like letting you go." He pulled her in for a final kiss as the bus pulled to a stop beside them.

It was dark out when Michonne stepped off the bus at the stop nearest to her home. She made the short trek home feeling giddy inside, not caring that she would most likely be admonished for wandering alone at night instead of calling for a driver to escort her home.

When she rounded the final corner to enter the gates, she froze at the sight of Winfield house illuminated by red and blue lights.

Her heart started hammering and her feet quickened as she approached the large mansion. "Evening Miss Westbrook," a voice called as she passed the guard house, in a half jog.

She turned to find the guard with the strange haircut that she remembered as Eugene. "Hey, what's going on over there? Is everything okay?"

Eugene simply shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not too sure. I just took over Horace's shift. I think he mentioned something about Mrs. Westbrook losing it. I don't know. I try to mind my own business. My job only involves watching the gate, so I don't pay much mind to what goes on beyond this guard house."

The first place Michonne's mind went was to James's tryst with his secretary or whatever the woman was supposed to be to him; she wasn't entirely sure. Had her mother found out and went off like a woman scorned, leading to the need for immense police presence?

She backed away from the useless guard, all but sprinting toward the house. "Have a good night," he called pleasantly at her retreating form.

A small crowd of people stood, gathered outside the house and the front doors were wide open. Michonne recognized some of the faces as the house staff and drivers. She bypassed Simon, looking through the small crowd for her mother, but the woman was nowhere in sight.

What the hell was going on?

She caught pieces of conversations around her as she searched for Winnie and James.

"We will set up a search around Regent's Park for now."

"He's questioning the parents now."

"Haven't seen that tosser."

"Around half past three yesterday afternoon."

"Okay, listen up all."

When she entered the house her eyes finally located her mother with her stepfather was standing next to her in one piece. They spoke to a man in a bowler hat and long dark coat. He looked like a detective one would see on old television shows. Almost like a cross between Hercule Poirot and Sherlock Holmes. She half expected him to pull out a magnifying glass to search for clues.

"Mom, what's going on?" she asked as she neared the couple, not caring that she was interrupting whatever it was they were frantically explaining to the stoic mustachioed man.

Her mother turned to her with an expression of total distraught. Her voice, in total contrast to her demeanor, was calm and steady when she finally spoke. "It's Amare. We can't find him."

* * *

 **There you have it. Review and let me know your thoughts.**

 **It took me a long time to get this out because I've just been very demotivated lately. I haven't been in a writing mood for some time now.**


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